The Everlasting Gobstopper
by Yva J
Summary: What would have happened to Charlie and Wonka if the boy had not spoken the candy maker's name at the end of the '71 film? Alternate Universe
1. Prologue: A Silent Deed

_Author's note: This is a brand new story. I don't know how long it's going to be, because it's not finished yet. It is an Alternate Universe (AU) story, and is a Wilder Wonka story. This story is basically an idea that I have had kicking about in my head for the last few months._

_What it is, if you recall the very end of the 1971 movie after Willy Wonka gets upset with Charlie and Grandpa Joe about stealing the Fizzy Lifting Drinks. Just before Charlie passes the test, he approaches the desk where Wonka is working. In the film, he says 'Mr. Wonka' before placing the Gobstopper on the desk. I always felt that that line was a catalytic one, because it got Wonka's attention. _

_But, I asked myself, what if Charlie had just put the Gobstopper on the desk and said nothing? Would Wonka have noticed what the boy had done? That's what this story is. It follows a completely different idea, and it also brings to light the situation of one of the other kids (specifically Violet Beauregarde)._

_So, with that said, I give you the first part of this story._

_Edited and polished, February 2, 2008. _

* * *

**The Everlasting Gobstopper**

By: Yva J.

**Prologue: A Silent Deed**

It had started out as one of the best days of his life, at least that was what Charlie Bucket thought before he and his grandfather had stepped into Willy Wonka's office. There, they saw a side of the man that they would have preferred not to have seen at all.

Charlie could feel his heartbeat starting to race when Willy Wonka's eyes met his, the anger and disappointment washing over him as though he had been doused by a bucket of cold water. The worst part about it was he knew deep down inside that what he and his grandfather had done had been wrong. The boy had never stolen anything in his life, his conscience would not let him, and aside from that, his mother had raised him living and looking out at the world through eyes laced in integrity.

He wanted to turn away from Willy Wonka and deny the truth of the hurtful words that were being thrown at him, yet he couldn't. He stood, as still as a statue, his eyes closing as the chocolatier's speech ended and his grandfather's angry words suddenly filled the room.

There was nothing in the world that was worse for the boy than to be subjected to grown-ups fighting, specifically if they were doing so because of something that he had done.

The boy's thoughts reflected back on the words his grandfather had said when they were floating about in the Fizzy Lifting Drink Room. 'Mr. Wonka isn't going to like this'. Charlie had suspected the very same thing.

These words had proven to be very true, Mr. Wonka did not like it at all. In fact, the chocolatier had even known all along of their transgression. Yet Charlie wondered if that one err in judgment rendered him unworthy of a lifetime supply of chocolate. He contemplated for a split second if he would ever be able ask Mr. Wonka to forgive him. The man looked completely beside himself with fury, and this scared him beyond recognition.

The truth was, Charlie could clearly understand why the man was upset with them, he was quite upset with himself as well. Of course, he didn't speak about it, he simply listened as the two adults continued yelling at each other like a couple of rabid dogs.

As Mr. Wonka turned on him, his accusing blue eyes never leaving Charlie's face, the boy was left to ponder if some mistakes were even forgivable? After all, his mother forgave him when he accidentally spilled sugar on the floor of their one-room house. Grandpa George had pardoned him for spilling cabbage soup on his favorite dressing gown. Even Grandma Josephine had understood why he had failed his math test during the course of the Golden Ticket Contest.

They all had forgiven him.

Everyone had except for Willy Wonka.

The forlorn child remained standing in the man's office after the words 'I said, good day' still rang in his twelve-year-old ears. He could not move, he simply stared at the chocolatier, his heart heavy as though it was now pumping lead instead of blood. Along with that, a strange mixture of guilt and betrayal suddenly enfolded him.

"I'll get even with him if it's the last thing I ever do," Grandpa Joe muttered as he took Charlie's arm and started to lead him towards the office door. Opening it, he started to make his way through, his last words literally hanging in the air. "If Slugworth wants a Gobstopper, he'll get one."

Charlie suddenly stopped, his arm, he pulled out of his grandfather's hold. His body stood unmoving. He turned around and looked back at the chocolatier as he remembered the moment when he had sworn to keep the candy for himself. It was a vow that he had intended to keep, yet, now he knew what the right thing to do was, even if his brain was screaming at him not to.

The Everlasting Gobstopper, that small piece of candy that Willy Wonka had given to him, as well as three of the other children back in the Inventing Room. It was the only thing that he had left from that day, his only souvenir of this magical place and now he was contemplating giving it back. He pondered for a split second if he was insane.

As he stood there staring at the chocolatier's back, a wave of bitterness suddenly washed over him. His expression somehow lost every last drop of emotion. Even if he wanted to cry, he knew he could not.

Swallowing the lump that told him to take the Gobstopper to Slugworth and get a reward vanished as he slowly walked over to the desk where Wonka sat working.

It seemed as though the candy maker had opted to shutting himself off from the rest of the world. One of his elbows was now perched on the desk, his head resting against his flat palm. The frizzy flyaway hair seemed to halo his head as he wordlessly continued to write. Charlie looked down at the half piece of paper that lay before him, it was covered with numbers, which he guessed were sales figures or something business related.

Because Wonka seemed unaffected by his presence there, the boy started to wonder if the confectioner even realized that he was standing there. Without contemplating the results of his actions, he dug in the pocket of his pants, pulled out the candy, and stepped even closer to the desk.

Any words he might have said were now stuck in his throat. He was not even sure what motivated him to return to Wonka's side in the first place. The man's parting words had not only scarred him, but they had also been pointedly clear.

Now, the boy's legs felt remotely like they were filled with solid concrete. His decision had been made. The poor young boy wanted nothing more than to return the object to its proper owner before retreating to a place where he could just cry.

He was not sad about the chocolate, inasmuch as he was frightened by the angry words that had been exchanged.

Wordlessly, he placed the Gobstopper on the corner of the desk. He stood for a moment not really certain about what to say or do. His eyes were filled with sadness as he turned away and walked with weighted steps towards the door.

As he reached it, he raised his head and looked at his grandfather. "Take me home, Grandpa." His voice was cracking, but Joe said nothing. He simply put his arm around his grandson's shoulders and led him out of the office, up the stairs, and out the back door.

Neither of them spoke as they were leaving the factory and as the reporters swarmed over to them, Charlie simply raised his head and said. "No comment."

"It's been an exhausting day, you understand," Joe had said at the very same moment. "Please let us pass."

By some miracle they did, and neither of them said a word. They simply watched as the crowd dissipated and they left the factory.

* * *

At that precise moment, Willy Wonka was still seated in his office, his stance unmoving. Because of the silence that had enfolded the room, he did not even notice what the boy had done. Instead, he kept his head bowed and his eyes concentrated on his work, his writing brusque and defined. He refused to raise his head until long after the door had closed and Charlie Bucket and his Grandpa Joe were both gone.

Only then did he turn his head and behold the small rainbow colored candy that rested on the corner of his desk. He picked it up and examined it closely. "That wasn't here before," he mumbled under his breath.

After several moments had passed, the realization dawned on him that this Gobstopper had been the one that belonged to Charlie. The boy had returned it, and he had not even paid attention, although part of the test indicated that he would wait for something to happen. It was now clear that while he had waited for the boy to do something, he did not expect the impoverished boy to do what it was he had done. This action had taken him completely by surprise and now he was left staring at the candy that lay on his desk. Picking it up, he rolled it around in his hand, his eyes staring down at it.

Several seconds passed before he practically jumped to his feet and rushed towards the door. Pulling it open, he called out into the hallway. "Charlie?"

The sounds of his voice resonated all around him, but resulted in no answer. He had hoped that by some miracle that they would still be lurking about, but they were not. The two of them had taken his anger to heart and retreated in silent defeat. The hallway was empty.

Charlie and his grandfather were gone.

The chocolatier ran his hand through his unruly hair. His behavior had reaped the exact results that he had wanted and the child had proven his honesty and trustworthiness beyond any doubt. What it also had proven was that the boy carried a humility that stretched beyond words. Instead of speaking of his noble deed, Charlie Bucket had done it with the integrity of a man, but as quietly as the wind as it wafted through his courtyard.

He took a deep breath, his gaze still on the Gobstopper that rested in the palm of his hand. Why did they leave? He asked himself.

His inner voice would not let this question remain unanswered, instead, it began to shout at him, the words resonating his conscience and leaving Willy Wonka to feel much worse than he already did. 'Charlie left because you scared him to death when you let them have it.'

"I scared him," Willy Wonka whispered under his breath. "That gentle child, and I went and frightened him."

In the back of his mind he pondered whether or not going out into the streets of London would be the right thing for him to do. It was clear that he had to find the boy, but after that morning's events and seeing the press outside his gates in practical hordes, he would not be safe to leave the factory until the hoopla had at least ceased somewhat.

"I have to find him…" His words trailed off and it was abundantly clear that his conscience was now trying to take on his reason. With these notions in mind, he took a deep breath and made his way down the hallway in the direction of the office that was adjacent to his own. Tapping lightly on the door, he called out. "Mr. Wilkenson!"

The door abruptly swung open and he was left looking into the dark eyes of Thomas Wilkenson. "What is it, Mr. Wonka?" The tall man with the high pitched voice, dark hair and rounded spectacles asked.

"The boy, Charlie Bucket," he began. "Is he and his grandfather still here?" He asked.

"No, after the boy failed the test, he and his grandfather left," the man answered.

"Charlie did not fail," Wonka opened his palm to reveal the Everlasting Gobstopper. "He put this on my desk just before he left, only I didn't see him do it."

"He did not even speak when he did it?" The man asked, but his employer shook his head. "That's strange."

"I thought so too, but his actions came completely unexpected," the chocolatier said. "Have you any idea where he lives? The newspaper said that he lives here in town, but we have to narrow it down a little."

"I can only guess that he comes from the poorer sectors, sir," Wilkenson responded. "When I confronted him, he was running through the Haywood Tunnel. That tunnel separates the train lines from this part of town and the segment known as Harrington Way. By a process of elimination, I would guess that given the poor state of his clothing that he lives in that impoverished community near the Paulette Dairy."

Wonka closed his eyes. It was no secret that he was not at his best with people. Sure talking to the Oompa Loompas was alright, but how would he talk to this boy. What would he say. "Mr. Wilkenson, perhaps you could go to see him again."

"No sir, that would be quite impossible. He believes that I am Arthur Slugworth," he said. "It would have to be you or at the very least someone that both you and Charlie know. Perhaps one of the other kids?"

"After everything that's happened, I couldn't possibly go and ask one of them," Wonka said. "Their parents are aghast by what has happened to them, and their behavior has been nothing short of terrible.

"Sir, one of these children may, in fact, be the only way that you will reach Charlie," Wilkenson argued.

"Which of them are still here?" Willy asked.

"The Gloops have already left."

"I don't think Augustus spoke very much English, he probably would not have been able to help," Wonka said under his breath.

"What about Veruca Salt?" Wilkenson asked. "As far as I know, they are both still getting decontaminated from their trip into the garbage and have not left the factory yet."

"When they are finished, then that girl and her father should just go home," Wonka said miserably. "Her actions in the Golden Goose Room will take us weeks to put back in order. I don't even want to ask her for anything. Besides that, I honestly don't think Charlie cared all that much for her anyway."

"Well, there's Mike Teavee?" Wilkenson said.

The chocolatier once more shook his head. "He was so obnoxious."

"Well, beggars can't be choosers," the employee said. "So, the only one we're left with is the blueberry girl."

"Violet Beauregarde," Wonka mumbled. "Is she still in the Juicing Room?"

"Yes, she should still be in there, the Oompa Loompas have been trying to get the juice out of her since the incident happened. I peeked into the room after some time had passed and was rather saddened by what I saw."

"What did you see?" Wonka asked.

"Maybe you should just go and have a look for yourself," Wilkenson responded. "Seeing as the process takes a bit of time, I went ahead and arranged for her and her father a room for the night here on the factory grounds."

"Thank you, but do you think that Violet would be willing to help me find Charlie? I wasn't exactly nice to her, and I certainly didn't help her when she went to the juicing room. I'm just not sure the child would want to even see me at this point."

"Well, Sir, you do have a caring disposition when you decide to show it. Perhaps now would be a good time for you to do so," Thomas Wilkenson said before turning and walking away. Before he left, he slid a fresh handkerchief into the chocolatier's hand.

"What's this for?" He asked.

"You'll know when you get there," he responded before disappearing into his office and closing the door behind him.

Wonka nodded, and without thinking about what he was doing, he heeded his friend's suggestion and headed straight down the hall in the direction of the Juicing Room.


	2. Chapter 1: Lessons Learned

_Author's Notes: Since this story is a work in progress, I am asking that you please review it, because I need some motivation to continue working on it. I was totally blown away by Nina Rouge's comment. Wow, when a story can bring that sort of feel, then not only is it a huge compliment, but it also blows me away. So thanks for that!_

_Thanks YA YA for giving this new idea a go. I really am having fun writing this and hope that everyone reading will enjoy it._

_Please let me know what you think._

_Edited and polished on February 2, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 1: Lessons Learned**

Coming into the room, Willy Wonka could hear the sounds of Violet Beauregarde softly crying and this made the stone that was lodged in his stomach grow even bigger. He could now understand why Wilkenson had given him the handkerchief several minutes before.

On the other side of the room, instead of sitting with his frightened daughter, the girl's father was on the phone trying to negotiate some sort of deal. "Samantha, you have to make sure that Mr. Radley buys the '68 model with all the accessories, it's a hundred dollar difference."

Upon hearing these words, the chocolatier pondered going over and jerking the chord clear out of the wall, but instead kept his cool. The last thing he wanted to do was destroy something else with his temper. The girl was crying, so his getting upset would only prolong her suffering and chances are her present condition could have come about because of feelings of neglect.

Wonka knew very little about children, short of what sorts of candies he was best able to make and sell to them. Right now, as he regarded Violet's condition, he simply could not comprehend her having to cope with this procedure all by herself. Naughty or not, to him, Violet had suffered enough for her mistakes.

He stood next to the door staring as Sam Beauregarde hung up the phone only to pick it up again and start dialing. He wondered for a split second if he should just send his monthly phone bill to Mile's City, Montana and be done with it.

For her part, Violet was alone and lying on her back only to be turned every ten minutes to keep the juice circulating around her body. This acted as a means to get the very last of the foreign substance out, but the further along this procedure went, the more painful it became for the child. The tubes that were connected to her body were hard and long like straws, but they would not bend. It was more than apparent that their presence, made lying on the bed excruciating.

Wonka knew this procedure quite well because they had used the very same one on the brave Oompa Loompa that volunteered to test the gum. The subject would first lie on their back, then be turned onto one side, then onto their stomach, then the other side. This had been done with Violet for the last six hours and he could tell that the girl was now completely exhausted.

Empathy washed over him as he approached where she lay. He eyed the siphons that were pressed up against various stages of her body, the purple colored liquid being sucked out of her.

It looked as though the Oompa Loompas were nearly done by the time he had arrived. She still had the tell-tale signs of the experience lining her face, the tears of agony streaming from beneath her eyes.

From looking at her, Wonka had a very hard time determining whether or not Violet was crying from pain, regret, or simply exhaustion. Perhaps it was a bit of all three.

Instead of looking like a blueberry, however, she had started to take her normal form, but still looked rather like a raisin, since her face was still blue.

He seated himself next to the bed and could see her brown hair draped over the pillow. Her eyes were squinted closed. It looked as though she was trying to imagine herself in any place besides the one where she presently was.

She bit down on her lip but released it after several moments had passed. Keeping her eyes closed she spoke, her words a clear indication that she felt alone and abandoned by the rest of the world. "I'll never chew another piece of gum as long as I live," she whimpered softly, the tortured tears and the general redness of her face now leaving a strange purplish hue. "Never, never, never…" These words emerged almost like a musical diminuendo. Each time she said 'never', the utterance emerged softer than its predecessor.

Wonka inhaled sharply upon hearing the overwhelming sounds of regret that laced her words. Why was the child's father not even with her? He pondered. What was the matter with this image?

"Daddy?" Violet whispered, her voice cracking and it was clear that she had sensed that someone was now standing over her. Wonka could tell that she internally hoped that it was her father.

Without thinking of what he was doing, the chocolatier turned and could see that the girl's father was still on the phone. At this moment, the candy maker was ready to start shouting at the man. 'What is the matter with you? Your daughter is lying here and suffering and you're on the phone calling half of London!'

Instead of speaking of these grievances or saying something that he knew he would probably end up regretting, the chocolatier simply started to unfold the handkerchief. Wordlessly, he leaned over and carefully began to wipe the moisture from her cheek.

Upon feeling this, the weeping girl slowly opened her eyes and looked into his blue eyes.

"W-why are you here?" She managed to squeak out, her voice emerging as a half sob. Instead of waiting for an answer, she once more closed her eyes as if expecting him to strike her. It was abundantly clear to both of them that she was fearful about what he was going to do or say next.

Wonka stopped what he was doing for a moment and took a deep breath. He wondered why she looked so tense and could only conclude that to this child, he encased a sadistic and cruel sort of essence.

"I came by to see how you were doing," he eventually offered, the cane he carried now tightly held in his grip.

"As if you really c-care." These words were out before she could stop them. If her arms had actually been able to reach without feeling the pain from the procedure, she would have probably slapped one of them over her mouth. Instead of saying anything, she merely waited for him to respond.

"It may sound hard for you to believe, but I do care," he said. "I wish you had listened to me when I told you to spit out the gum, Violet."

"I do too," she whimpered miserably.

"Why didn't you?" His voice remained hard, but somewhere in it there was a kindness to it that she had only heard at the gate when he welcomed her to the factory.

She motioned with her head towards her disinterested father. "I-I figured that if I succeeded at something no one else had ever done, then he might actually notice me. He had started to, just before…"

"…Yes," he interrupted her. "I heard him."

"I hoped that he would understand how scary this is," she whispered. "But, I guess he didn't. I-I'm so scared, and now I look like a freak…"

"…It shouldn't be a permanent condition, Violet," he said. "And you have nothing to be afraid of, it's almost over and then you can get some sleep."

She said nothing, instead she looked up at him, her eyes conveying that contrary to his words, she was still terrified. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wonka," she whispered as her eyes shamefully closed.

The chocolatier was somewhat taken aback by these words. He did not expect any of the children to apologize to him, much less understand what reason they might have in doing so. "Why are you sorry?" He asked.

The girl licked her lips but closed her eyes. "For putting you through so much trouble."

As her response filled his ears, Willy Wonka noted a trace of humility that struck him dumb. Here was a girl who had been almost a know-it-all in the Inventing Room, and now she was behaving in a completely different manner. Perhaps this experience had somehow changed her for the better.

"It was no trouble," he said gently. Of course this was a lie, but how would he tell her that this incident would not be without consequence. Looking down at her, he could see that the child was in far more pain than just the physical aspect of having been turned into a blueberry. He decided immediately that he would not be rubbing salt into that particular wound. Not even he was that cruel.

"Are you just saying that to make me feel better?" She cast another quick glance towards her father. "Usually, when I cause trouble or am about to do something stupid, I get yelled at."

"Do you mean to tell me that you are accustomed to people yelling at you when you are about to do something that you shouldn't?" He asked, his voice laced in genuine curiosity.

Violet nodded.

"So when they don't, you think that everything is alright?" He asked.

When she nodded again, something became more than clear to him. Perhaps his soft manner did not express the extent of danger regarding the situation. For a child such as this, shouting seemed to be the only way in which to be heard in that family. The fact that the candy maker rarely shouted, probably gave very crossed signals to the girl. Instead of speaking of this, he took a deep breath and simply nodded. "Perhaps I should have noticed this before now," he said.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"Well, your experiences somehow mirror my own. Your father is rather like mine was. I used to do the very same sorts of things when I was a boy. Sometimes I would get into a great deal of trouble in the process of trying to get him to acknowledge me."

"Did you have to blow up like a blueberry to get him to?" She asked.

He chuckled. "No, but I was responsible for my fair share of chaos creating."

She smiled slightly. "It's funny, but I never thought that we'd actually have something in common."

"Neither did I, but we do," he said, but returned the gesture. "I'm really sorry that you ended up getting hurt in the process of discovering that. A child should not be punished for the shortcomings in the parent, but it has been known to happen."

She closed her eyes. "W-when I found the Golden Ticket, I thought maybe by coming here it would be a great way for him to notice me, but all he seemed to care about was doing business. I would laugh and stuff, but inside it really hurt."

"I know," Wonka nodded as he recalled how Sam Beauregarde had shoved his daughter aside to shake his hand and give him a business card. Despite his misgivings about the girl he had seen on television, the chocolatier remembered how Violet's face had lit up like a Christmas tree when he had called her 'charming'. His initial words had been said as a form of politeness, but now he could only conclude that his acknowledgement had actually meant something to her.

The girl looked away from her father, but no words emerged from her, instead they emerged from Wonka. "It seems to me that you were following the only example you knew." He brushed a comforting hand through her hair.

"I was stupid," she whispered.

"Acknowledging that breeds wisdom," He said simply.

She nodded wearily as several Oompa Loompas came over and started to turn her onto her side. "Oh no…not again," she managed, this time, instead of facing her father, the girl was now left facing the back wall. Shifting about, she tried to lay in the most painless way possible.

Wordlessly, Wonka got up and walked around the bed so that he could sit and still make eye contact with her. He could see the tears still in her eyes and watched as she tried to rest her head against the pillow. Because of the tubes, her head was now more or less suspended in midair. The way it was, she was now too exhausted to even try and remedy the situation. The chocolatier reached for a pillow that was on the other bed and shook it out before carefully placing it beneath her head. "Is that better?" He asked.

"Yes, thank you," she managed to relax somewhat.

As her words emerged, Sam Beauregarde turned around, his face going white when he saw Wonka now present in the room and sitting next to his daughter.

"What do you think you're doing?" He demanded as he slammed down the phone and started towards the bed where his daughter lay.

"I'm trying to help your daughter," Wonka said calmly.

"Help? Haven't you done enough of that?" The irate man asked. "You let that August kid fall into the river and then you let my little girl turn into a blueberry. I would say you did anything but help."

"Perhaps you question my motives, but I think that sitting with Violet is what you should be doing, sir and not sitting on my phone negotiating business deals." Wonka took a deep breath, but before he could continue speaking, Violet did.

"Daddy?"

Ignoring her pleas, Mr. Beauregarde looked at the chocolatier. "I can't imagine you actually being able to help her, when you are the one who's responsible for making her this way in the first place. I intend to sue you for every penny you've got."

"No, Daddy," Violet called out once again, her body starting to shift and her eyes closing in agony against the various apparatuses that were still wedged into her body.

The chocolatier took a deep breath, and instead of responding to the car salesman's accusations, his attention shifted back to Violet, and he looked down at her. "Try to calm down, Violet," he said, his voice sounded more or less strained. "Don't get yourself worked up, this could prolong the effects of the procedure."

"But…" Her objection emerged and trailed off when she felt two of his fingers against her mouth. This action silenced her, and his next words suddenly filled her ears.

"…If your father decides to use your misfortune for monetary gain, then there is nothing you can do to stop him from going through with it," he said, his voice the epitome of calmness. Through this, the chocolatier was completely ignoring Mr. Beauregard's outburst.

"What's going to happen to me?" She asked weakly.

"I promise that when you leave here, you'll be completely restored, just as the others will," he said. "Try not to worry."

"What happened to the others?" She asked.

"Let me see, your friend Veruca…"

"…That brat was never my friend," Violet interrupted.

Wonka smiled impishly. Veruca had been as big an aggravation to him as to Violet, and perhaps it was that similarity over anything else that brought him to see her as opposed to the others. "Well, Veruca and her father both ended up going down the garbage chute. I didn't see her afterwards, but did hear that she was covered in all kinds stuff like banana peels and broken eggs as well as leftovers from the Oompa Loompas' lunches. She and her father were immediately sent to the Decontaminating Room to clean up."

"I'd have loved to have seen that," she smiled despite her pain.

"Yes, I'm sure you would, but falling in the garbage gives off quite an odor," he smirked, but continued to rub his chin. "Then Mike ended up getting shrunk down to the size of a bean."

"What about that cute boy who was here with his grandfather?" Violet asked.

"You mean Charlie?"

"Yes," she nodded, but opened her eyes to see a small trace of sadness lurking in the candy maker's face.

"He left with his grandfather about an hour ago," he said.

"He left huh?" The car salesman broke his silence and spoke, his voice filled with disdain. "You mean you didn't manage to turn him into an apricot or something? Now, that surprises me that any kid could actually walk out of here unscathed."

"Everything that happened to the children were a direct result of their choices, not mine, Mr. Beauregarde. I didn't force your daughter to chew the gum anymore than I made Augustus drink from the chocolate river. I told him to stop just as I told Violet that she should spit the gum out," Wonka shot back, but his aggrieved expression remained and did not seem to get past the girl.

"Mr. Wonka?" She spoke his name, her question soft and not even heard by her father.

"Yes?"

"Will you forgive me?" She asked.

"Violet baby, how could you ask him to forgive you? It should be the other way around," the car salesman said matter-of-factly.

Instead of acknowledging her father's words, Violet's eyes remained on the chocolatier.

Eventually, he nodded. Instead of saying 'yes' or 'no' to her inquiry, his words emerged completely unrelated to her question. "Try and get some sleep, Violet." He then stood up and patted her shoulder.

"But, I need to know," she managed to speak.

"Why do you care about that?" He asked mischievously, his soft question taking her somewhat by surprise.

"When my father was ignoring me, you were nice to me," she whispered brokenly.

Upon hearing these words, Sam Beauregarde's face puffed up as he inhaled, but no words emerged. Instead, he looked over at Willy Wonka, who merely responded to Violet's words with a gentle nod.

Before the candy maker could even ask her what she meant, he looked down and saw her finger pointing to something. Following this, he noticed that she was indicating the handkerchief that was still resting in his hand.

* * *

After his conversation with Violet had ended, Wonka stayed with her until she had drifted off to sleep. Once she was asleep, the Oompa Loompas finished the juicing and removed the tubes that were affixed to her body. As the exhausted girl was being wheeled out of the room, Wonka made a decision.

He knew that what he was contemplating seemed to transcend everything he had spoken to Thomas Wilkenson about, but he knew that it was what he would have to do. He knew that he would need Violet's help, that much was clear to him, but he also needed to try and find out where Charlie lived on his own. Wilkenson knew only bits and pieces, he needed something more conclusive.

It was a long shot, that much was clear to him and for whatever reason, he was completely aware that Charlie was more important than bad press. He had to rectify this situation somehow and what he decided, he knew would be dangerous.

Having been affected more often in his life by the actions of the press, he knew of the bitterness that encased them. There was a great deal of truth to the old adage that said 'the pen was mightier than the fist'.

He also knew about how newspapers and magazines could take a simple bit of truth and turn it into something ugly and scandalous. They had, after all, used a great many half-truths to their own advantage with regards to him. As much as he did not want to admit it, he was concerned that if word got out about what had happened to Charlie Bucket that day, the boy would unwillingly be dragged into a media frenzy. The British press were, for the most part, brutal, especially when it was centered on someone who was as well known as he was.

The Golden Ticket contest had created a sensation and now that everyone had seen him outside of his factory, he would be a much easier target for them if they caught him out there.

This meant, whatever he decided to do, he would have to be _very_ careful.


	3. Chapter 2: An Unexpected Meeting

_OK, folks, here's the next chapter of this story. I hope that you enjoy it, and please leave me some reviews. I want to know if you like this, or if AU stories by Yva J. should be tossed in the waste can. I am personally having a blast writing it._

_I really want to know what you think, and am so glad that YA YA likes it. Yes, Sam B. is rather the scoundrel. Anyway, I really like reviews, please pacify me, but enjoy. I am not sure if this is too coincidental, but it's fantasy so just deal with it._

_I have a question for you, and depending on what you say here will have an impact on the later chapters of this story. Let's just say hypothetically, do you think that Mrs. Bucket and Wonka could possibly be shipped? Now, I am strictly referring to a woman who is widowed here as in the 1971 film, not the 2005 version. I don't ship characters where one of the parties is happily married to someone else. In this story, Mrs. Bucket is widowed, so has anyone contemplated this idea at all? I'm guessing that she is around 35 and he's between 35-40 thereabouts (I read somewhere that he was 34). Anyway, just let me know in your review what your thoughts are about this. It seems to leave a door open for it, but again I am seriously not trying to turn every story I write into a quasi romance, but it did cross my mind, so give me your thoughts please. I also take into consideration how 'popular' romantic stories are around here. _

_Oh well, enjoy._

_Edited February 2, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 2: An Unexpected Meeting**

As Grandpa Joe and Charlie arrived at the one room house that same evening, the lights were on and the rest of the family was waiting expectantly for them to return. Since it was now dark outside, it was blatantly clear that they would soon be returning from the factory. Clara had their daily ration of cabbage soup ready, although she pondered if her son would be filled with chocolate and candy to such an extent that he would not be able to even eat any of her soup.

Upon their arrival, she realized that any theory she might have had about him eating at the factory had been false. Charlie looked as though he had just failed the sixth class and she was left looking at her father with undeniable concern.

For his part, Charlie said absolutely nothing, instead, he stripped off his coat and scarf and retreated to the part of the house that was his sleeping corner. He crawled into bed and simply pulled the covers up over his head and lay there. None of them could see that he was crying, but this was, in fact, the conclusion they had all reached.

After all that had happened, the only thing the boy's mother could do was to pull Joe aside "What happened, Dad?" She asked him. "That tour was supposed to be something special for him." She sat down at the table and lowered her head. "Something tells me it wasn't."

"It was a catastrophe, Clara," Joe said, but did not elaborate what his role in all of this had been. Instead, he looked into the eyes of his daughter, and keeping his voice as low as possible, he began to relate the events to her.

"It started out wonderfully. I was so impressed with Mr. Wonka, and Charlie was absolutely star struck. He and I got to see some of the most wonderful and magical things that exist. It had been quite entertaining, but it stopped being fun when we got to Mr. Wonka's office at the end of the tour."

"What happened?" She asked.

"Charlie and I made a mistake during the tour Clara, we drank some Fizzy Lifting Drinks and got into a tad bit of trouble. it wasn't Charlie that was at fault as much as it was me. Mr. Wonka somehow knew about it and confronted us for it. That is, he yelled…" Joe's voice trailed.

"He yelled at Charlie?" Clara asked. "Dad, he's just a boy."

"I know, and I don't think that he was as angry at Charlie as he was at me. I let things get a bit crazy and Charlie was just an innocent bystander. He didn't deserve it, Clara, but he took it to heart and after everything that happened, he asked me to bring him home, so I did."

She looked over at where her son lay, the blanket still covering his head. "None of this makes any sense. Even if Mr. Wonka was upset, what gives him the right to yell at a child like that?"

Joe nodded in concurrence, "I agree, but that's basically what happened. Willy Wonka was nothing that we expected. Sure, he was fine during the first part of the tour, but then things started to happen to the other kids. One boy fell into the river, a second got shrunk, and then one of the girls blew up like a blueberry and the fourth went down the garbage chute."

"That sounds dreadful," Clara gasped. "And then he yells at Charlie? Dad, this man seems to be spinning some sort of magic that is beyond anyone's control. Shouldn't we do something?"

"We can't do anything, Clara," Joe argued. "Mr. Wonka has the means to protect himself from any sort of action that we might take, and honestly, I don't think that Charlie would want us to interfere. It's more or less his battle, be it an deeply emotional one."

"But this is so wrong," she whispered.

"Wrong or not, sweetheart, we're playing by his rules and no one else's," Joe said as he wrapped his daughter in his arms and held her. "Everything is going to be alright, you'll see."

"I sometimes wonder what Clarence would have done if he were still alive," she whispered from within the confines of her father's embrace. "He would have done something."

"Maybe not, for as good of a man as he was, there were some things that he could not have controlled. Perhaps he would have felt just as helpless in the situation as we all do," he said.

Clara took a deep breath. "I think I need some time alone to think all of this through. Why don't you go to bed? I'm going to take a little walk."

"Where will you go?" He asked. "It's nearly ten."

"I'll be back before too long," she said before grabbing her shawl. She wrapped it snugly around her body before leaving the small house.

Joe watched her go, and in some ways he was quite glad that he would not have to answer anymore of her questions about what had happened. He crawled into bed next to Josephine and closed his eyes. Perhaps tomorrow would be a new day, and they would be able to start picking up the pieces before Charlie was due back at school on Monday morning.

Although the house was now quiet, Joe's thoughts were literally screaming at him. He blamed himself for his grandson's misfortune, and regardless of what anyone were to say about it, he came to realize that the person who was at fault for everything having gone wrong was none other than himself.

After all, it was he who had instigated Charlie breaking the rules in the first place. It was he who encouraged the boy to try the Fizzy Lifting Drinks. His good-hearted grandson would never have come up with that idea on his own. Perhaps what he needed to do was go back to the factory alone and try to explain all of this to the reclusive chocolatier.

His grandson's broken heart would be reason enough for him to swallow his pride and give it a try. Perhaps the following day, he would be able to return to the factory gates. Of course, he could not help but ponder what on earth he would do once he got there.

At this moment, he was simply too tired to do anything else except try and get some sleep.

* * *

Outside on the street Clara Bucket walked slowly, the light of the nearly full moon casting eerie shadows all about. She always did this when she was upset, which during the last ten months seemed to happen quite frequently. She sorely missed her husband, especially during times such as these when she felt as though the world was just giving her family another in a series of punishing blows. 

She rarely felt sorry for herself, but yet, at this moment, she wondered what on earth she could do. It was starting to feel as though some cosmic force was laughing right in her face.

She swallowed as she continued to walk, the sounds of her worn out shoes scraping against the ground. She rubbed her arms, the cool autumn wind literally cursing straight through her. She tightened the hold on her shawl and continued on her way, her thoughts drifting. One day, before winter was due to set in, she would have to get herself a 'new' used winter coat. Her old one had a number of holes in it and it did not block the wind, not by any stretch of the imagination. Shivering, she soon found herself stopping and standing in a place that she would never have anticipated going to.

Taking a deep breath she found herself looking up at the smokestacks of Willy Wonka's factory.

The place now looked to be deserted. The red carpet was now gone and remnants of rubber that came from the busted balloons now littered the ground. The garbage receptacles were full, mostly from the remnants of sweets and empty packaging. It seemed ironic that as she looked around, this was all that remained after the excitement of the day. It had the same feeling that one might have after a New Year's Eve celebration, yet, it was the first day of October, not January.

Instead of paying this any mind, she approached the gate, and with calloused and worn out hands, she reached out and touched the iron bars that separated her from the confines of the factory.

Her son was completely enamored with this place, but to her it was just another factory. Another place with smokestacks and buildings that seemed only to be encased in unfulfilled dreams and lost ambitions. Her eyes were filled with sadness as she stopped to contemplate the overwhelming heartbreak that had lined her son's face when he and his grandfather had returned from the tour.

"Oh Charlie," she whispered under her breath as she ran her hand along the cool steel of the iron gate. "What did this place do to you and what can I do that will make you feel better again?"

After several minutes had passed, she turned away from it with the intention of walking back in the direction of where she lived. For some reason, she abruptly stopped and stared off in the distance. The darkened street and the lamps that hung over made her unconsciously shiver. She was not scared, but there was a strange sensation that crept through her that seemed to indicate that she was no longer alone. She turned around, and sure enough, she spotted a figure walking slowly towards her.

At that instant, it stood several meters away from her and she watched as the black colored silhouette seemed to drift its way closer. She could not run, but instead she gripped the edges of her shawl and pulled them even closer together.

As the person came even closer, she recognized the build as being that of a man, but instead of being able to make out any sort of distinguishing characteristics, his entire form seemed to be swallowed up in the folds of a dark cloak. By the time he was only two or three meters away from her, the light from the street lamps now illuminated his face. This revealed to her that he was not only about the same age as she was, but his face looked quite distinguished and she was wont to say, handsome.

Instead of speaking, she ran her hand down over her wrinkled dress and shawl as he reached where she was standing and now stood before her. He was so elegantly dressed that she immediately felt inferior in his presence.

Through half-closed eyes, she started to take in aspects of his appearance. He looked as though he had been to the theatre and was now using the intermission time to take an evening stroll. His dress was predominantly black, but she thought that he looked rather like a monk dressed in the long flowing cloak. In his hand, he carried what looked to be a cane, which added to his illustrious appearance.

"Good evening," he said as he allowed the cane to tap lightly against the ground in precise rhythm with his words. The softness of his voice made her relax, but the elegance in his stance countered that and she was left to question why he was even addressing her at all.

"G-good evening," she responded in kind, her voice somewhat shaky, thus indicative that she was intimidated by his stance. Instead of speaking further, she started to walk slowly away from the factory gates, her arms wrapping around herself.

"Wait," he called out to her, thus causing her to stop dead in her tracks and turn around. "I don't mean to scare you or sound brazen; but have we met?"

"I don't think so," she said shaking her head. It was clear that based on his attire alone, that they did not run in the same circles. "Perhaps, you are one of the customers at the laundry where I work." As these words emerged, she hoped that her voice did not sound rude, but she could not comprehend that he could even know who she was. Even with Charlie's instant fame, she had opted to stay in the background and remain unseen.

"I don't think so," he said shaking his head. "Please understand, I would not say such a thing to upset you, but you do look like someone I have seen before. Would you mind telling me your name."

Clara looked at the man somewhat skeptically, but instead of pondering this, she took a deep breath, all the while asking herself if it was a safe thing for her to do. After several seconds, the silence seemed to swallow them both up and she looked at him. "My name is Clara," she said as she tried to measure his reaction.

Initially, he said nothing, in fact, her statement seemed to have left very little impact on him. Of course, she was waiting for him to wave his hand nonchalantly and offer a simple apology for having been mistaken. Nothing emerged, in fact, it was almost as though the question had not been adequately answered at all. Eventually, she broke the silence with a simple statement. "My last name is Bucket."

As these words now hung in the air, she could not comprehend for the life of her why she had said that, but now it was too late for regrets. She waited for him to speak, but continued to study his face. He placed his fingertips against his lips as though in apt contemplation, and then after several moments had passed, his hand slowly lowered and his eyes lit up.

"You're Charlie Bucket's mother, aren't you?" He asked and when she hesitantly nodded, he broke into bright smile and continued speaking. "I should have known, you look just like him or, better said, he looks just like you."

"Sir, are you a reporter?" She asked now feeling herself grow increasingly nervous. She started to back away from him, and it was clear that she did not feel like talking to reporters about her son. Along with that, she knew that she did not really want to mention Willy Wonka.

By this time, her entire stance had lost a considerable amount of energy, but she continued speaking, her words emerging weaker than she intended. "Is that what this is all about? A-are you following me as a way to try and find out more information about my son?" As she made even more of a distance between her and him, he reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder, the touch feather light. This surprised her and she stopped and looked up at him. "Who are you?"

"I'm not a reporter," he said firmly. "Of that I can assure you, dear lady."

"But you know about my son?" She asked.

The man nodded. "Mrs. Bucket, you may not believe anything I tell you, but then again, maybe you will know some of the truth when you see the paper tomorrow."

"You speak in riddles," she said. "I haven't got time to decipher them. I'm sorry but my son…"

"…Your son is very sad and hurt, isn't he?" The man interrupted, as he noted the fear and shock that now lined her face. She looked at him as though she was about two seconds away from fleeing. Instead of leaving her to ponder his words, he continued. "There's something very important that I need to discuss with you. I can only reiterate that I am not trying to scare you."

"Then tell me how come you know all this?"

The man closed his eyes, but instead of immediately speaking, he pulled from his pocket what looked to be several shiny pieces of paper. The lights that danced across them showed her that they were gold in color. He held them in his hand for several moments before starting to speak. "I know about Charlie and his situation because, I'm probably the one who made him feel that way." He paused and handed the shiny golden pieces of paper to her. "Mrs. Bucket, my name is Willy Wonka."


	4. Chapter 3: A Magician's Way

_Author's Note: I know that this is asking a lot, but I really would like for someone to review this. I realize that Wilder Wonka stories are perhaps not the most popular, but I do know that there are people who are reading them out there. What am I doing that is wrong in posting these? Am I writing too far out of character? What? I won't know anything unless someone here tells me._

_Recently, I asked everyone if I should write another romance, which would be M-rated, and I got people adamantly saying 'no definitely not'. So I heeded their feelings, compromised, and started writing this story. Now, I don't regret it, because I really like what this story has evolved to. The point is, the motivation is simply dying off for me, not just for this story, but also for my epic story, which is really sad because I want to finish both stories. I hate being rude to people, but I have tried to be nice and ask in a non-confrontational way for people to give me a chance._

_So if you're still reading this story, then enjoy the latest installment. Keep in mind, though that it takes a lot more time for writers to write their stories than it takes for readers to review them. It's not a guilt trip, it's a fact, plain and simple. I'm not just saying this because of my work, but because of countless other writers as well. Although, we write for ourselves, we also write these stories for you, the readers. _

_Thanks YA YA for understanding that and for keeping this story going with your kind words. It is appreciated more than you know._

_Edited on February 2, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 3: A Magician's Way**

As Clara looked down at the pieces of paper and tried in the darkness to make out the writing that graced them, she soon realized that she was now holding the five Golden Tickets in her hand. Only Willy Wonka would have them, she concluded and somehow the realization hit her that this was all very real. If it had been a scheme, then it was a pretty elaborate one. "T-these are real."

"Yes," Wonka said, his voice simple, with traces of defeat.

She looked up at him, her eyes widening when she saw his deep set blue eyes looking back at her. Curly blonde hair surrounded his face and she remembered seeing him just before her son and father had entered the factory.

"I-I don't believe this," she managed to speak, her voice cracking as she returned the tickets to him and watched as they disappeared in the recesses of one of his many pockets. "What in God's name are you doing out here?"

He said nothing, simply shrugged his shoulders.

For some unorthodox reason, that response sent Clara reeling. As if shot out of a cannon, she suddenly felt her maternal instincts go into overdrive. She looked at the chocolatier and shook her head. "Do you realize what could happen if anyone else were to find out who you are? You could get attacked, mobbed, or _something_."

"Does that frighten you?" He asked, a mischievous smirk now crossing his face.

"Yes, it does, not just for you, but also for me," she looked at him, but noticed that his blue eyes were literally staring her down. "Forgive my being so vocal, Mr. Wonka, but I really have too much going on in my life to somehow become a target for an overambitious press."

He nodded, but this time instead of her backing away, he did.

"I didn't mean that you should go," she continued as she extended her hand out to him. There was so much she needed to know, and if he were to just leave, then she would never find closure as to what had happened that day. "Please, don't leave." Her voice emerged with a trace of desperation in it and after several moments, he stopped these actions and stood motionless. "Please just tell me why you're taking such a big risk."

"I came out because there is something I need to find out," Wonka said, his words simple, but they were filled with mysterious, but also unhappy undertones.

Clara stared up at him all the while pondering why it was she did not fully believe what her father had said about him. For a confectionary genius, Willy Wonka seemed to be rather on the soft-spoken, bordering on melancholy, side. Of course, she was perfectly aware of how first impressions could be deceiving. Unconsciously, she pulled her shawl even closer to her body. It was getting colder by the minute and the longer she stood outside, the worse it got.

Wonka watched her for several moments, all the while uncertain if what she was doing was a result of her fear or just the cold. Instead of speaking, he pulled off the cloak he was wearing and in a fluid motion had wrapped it around her. "Is that better? It is far too cold out here for you. You really should not be running around without a proper coat."

She nodded as she felt her arms unconsciously weaving through the sleeves and feeling the warmth of the cloak literally engulf her. Instead of speaking, she looked up to see that he was dressed inconspicuously in a thick black overcoat, pants, a matching scarf and gloves, but he wore no hat. His curly hair, he had managed to tame down somewhat, but the cane was still resting in one of his gloved hands. "I was thinking about that as I was walking here, actually. But, are you sure that it's not too cold for you?"

"I'm fine, Mrs. Bucket, don't worry about me," he began.

"Please, just call me Clara," her words emerged, and she almost felt the surprise enfold her at requesting him to address her informally.

"Alright, Clara, would you consent to walking with me?" He asked but then added, "Please." This single word emerged with a note of what sounded very much like desperation.

She nodded and allowed herself to fall into step beside him. "Would you tell me what you did to my son?" She asked after several moments of silence passed between them. "He came home tonight, said nothing to me, not even a simple 'good night, Mum', and just crawled into bed. I'm worried about him and I know that his time at the factory today had something to do with his strange behavior."

"Clara, I don't know why he reacted to me as he did," he began. "But, it does not change the fact that I did something that I deeply regret."

"You mean, you yelled at him and my father?" She asked.

"He told you?" Wonka asked.

"Dad told me," she nodded. "He said that he and Charlie made a mistake, but he didn't mention anything else about it. I think he was afraid to."

"Perhaps he was," Wonka said as he took a deep breath. Nervously, he began to tap the cane against the pavement. Somewhere deep inside of him, he was waiting for this gentle lady to lash out at him. He knew that she had every reason to, but when she spoke again, her voice was soft, almost inaudible. It was as though she did not want anyone else to hear her speak his name.

"Mr. Wonka, please tell me something. I don't understand what is happening and God knows I'm trying. Dad gave off the impression that you were some kind of 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde', but I don't think you are." As if to emphasize her point, she cast a brief glance down at the cloak that she was now wrapped in. "Something happened today; it wasn't physical, it was emotional. Before I left the house tonight, I heard Charlie crying, and he doesn't usually cry. I mean; the last time he really showed the extent of his heartbreak was when his father died." She looked over at him, but her gaze could not lock on his.

Upon hearing these words, the candy maker could feel the sadness literally enfold him. It felt as though she could almost see the guilt that blanketed him. "I never meant to hurt him, Clara," he eventually spoke.

"Yet it happened and you did. Don't you see? Sometimes the painful words are much harder for a child to overcome than physical things that happen to them," she said. Instead of her words emerging hard or laced with hate, they were enfolded in matter-of-factness. Seeing his unhappy expression, she reached over and rested her hand on his shoulder. As he felt this, he turned and looked at her as she continued speaking. "When someone gets hurt like that, then the emotional heartache can last for years. Most of the time it remains long after the physical signs have disappeared."

The candy maker was suddenly hurled back to his conversation with Violet earlier that evening. He had left the factory to sort all of that out, and now he was more confused than before. The bitter truth in her words along with the dampness of the London streets somehow mixed inside and left a distinctive feeling of isolation in him. He said nothing for several minutes, he simply allowed the wisdom that emerged from Charlie's mother to eat away at him.

Eventually, he made eye contact with the pretty blonde headed woman who was next to him. "I want to see Charlie again, but I don't know what I would say or if he would even believe me."

She rubbed her cold hands together. "I don't know if he would either, to be completely honest with you. Charlie puts a great deal of emphasis on forgiveness. I think that when he went to bed tonight, he was probably contemplating it; not his forgiving you, but you forgiving him."

Wonka swallowed. "Is that what he said?"

"No, but he didn't have to," she smiled despite the premise of their conversation. "I know Charlie very well, I've had twelve years of experience with him. He's a very sensitive boy, Mr. Wonka."

"I noticed that," he said.

"It's strange," she continued to speak. "Tonight, I was listening to my father relating to me what happened, and I kept wishing that my husband could have been here to help us through all of this. It's hard enough for me to protect Charlie from getting hurt on my own, but it's compounded now because I'm really at a loss." As she spoke, the tears began to stream down her cheeks. "I honestly don't know if the Golden Ticket was a blessing or a curse."

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"Throughout this contest, I kept telling Charlie that one day things would change for him, that he would discover that he is special and deserving of something wonderful. I tried to affirm that good kids like him aren't just meant to be bullied on a playground or pushed around. He didn't want to believe it; he wanted proof. He started to think that finding a Golden Ticket would be all the evidence that he would ever need. Even if I wanted to, I knew that I couldn't give him one. I wanted to make him happy, you see, and now…" Her voice trailed off and she shook her head.

"…Clara, would you believe me if I told you that I want the same thing for him?" Wonka asked. "I truly do."

"I don't know if I can," she managed to speak. "You're the reason he is so unhappy. You're the one who hurt my son and took away his hope. There is nothing in the world that will give it back. There's not a candy bar on the market that could give a child like Charlie that, which has been taken away from him."

Wonka lowered his head. There was so much biting truth in her words that he was left not knowing what to do or how to reconcile the emotions that were filling him. "I know I hurt him," he whispered more to himself than to her. "Would you at least give _me_ the chance to try and make it up to him?"

"You?" She raised her head, the surprise lurking in her gaze.

"Yes, me," he stopped walking and turned to face her, his eyes now staring down into hers. "I'm not an 'inhumane monster', Clara."

"I know you're not," she whispered as she wrapped her arms around herself and lowered her head. "But, Mr. Wonka, there's so much about all of this that I don't understand."

"Would you let me try to explain some of this to you?" He asked.

She nodded and waited as he took a deep breath and began to speak. "Did Charlie or your father mention anything to you about a candy called an Everlasting Gobstopper?"

"No," she shook her head. "Dad gave me a general description of what happened, but I don't think he mentioned it. I somehow knew that he was keeping something from me, but I didn't bother asking him about what it was."

"Your son is a very noble boy, Clara," Wonka said as he dug in the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out the small piece of candy before showing it to her. "This is an Everlasting Gobstopper."

Clara looked down at the piece of candy that rested in his hand. "What does this have to do with what happened to Charlie?"

"This piece of candy is all the proof that anyone would ever need to measure the honesty and understanding of your son. You see, I gave this piece of candy to Charlie during the tour. When it was over and I got angry with him and his grandfather, he returned it to me. He didn't have to give it back; he could have taken it with him, sold it, and made a great deal of money off of it. Perhaps that was what your father kept from you, knowing the state that your family has lived in. I don't wish to sound conceited, but I can tell simply by looking at you, that your family is not doing well."

"Are you saying that Charlie could have gotten rich by selling that?" She asked as she shook her head. "That sounds insane, who would pay for something like that?"

"Well, given the fact that this is more than just a piece of candy," he began. "It is, in fact, a brand new invention, and my competitors would have paid rather handsomely to have one in their possession. They could have used this as a prototype to figure out the ingredients and eventually copy it. That's what I told the children when I handed them out. I asked them not to share them with anyone, but to keep them for themselves."

"Charlie would never have betrayed your trust," she said softly. "He really looked up to you. He passed by the factory every day on his way to and from school. He and my father would talk about it as though it was the most wonderful place in the world."

Wonka nodded. "I realize that now, but you must understand that I had to find this out on my own. I would never have known simply through his words and affirmations, but instead through his actions. When Charlie returned this to me, it affirmed what you already know as true about his character. I did not know him, Clara, he was a stranger to me, and I didn't know of the goodness that was in him. I had to test him to find out."

After several moments of silence had passed between then, she eventually spoke. "You tested all of those children, didn't you?"

Wonka nodded. "I had to."

"Why?"

"I would rather not say at the moment," he responded simply.

"May I be completely honest?" She asked after several minutes had passed.

"I wish you would."

"My father told me, some of these kids actually did end up getting hurt," she began. "I know that sometimes children can be awful to one another, but from what he was able to explain, they trusted you, and you turned their happiest day into their worst."

"I did not do anything of the sort," he argued. "Do you honestly think that I would have supported them getting hurt?"

"I don't know, but no parent wants to see their child get hurt," she said.

Wonka stopped walking and turned to face her. He rested his hand on her shoulders, his eyes staring down into hers. "I allowed them to make choices, and the results of said choices were the physical conditions that they were left with. I affirmed to Charlie and will say to you that these children would be restored as soon as they leave the factory. Even Charlie was given a choice as well, but the irony was not in the Fizzy Lifting Drink Room, instead it emerged in a way that I didn't expect." He once again showed her the Everlasting Gobstopper before returning it to his pocket.

"You really couldn't have stopped these things from happening," she said weakly.

"I couldn't," he said shaking his head. "Once a child makes a choice, it becomes difficult, if not impossible, for anyone to go in and change it. Dear lady, we all have our vices, and we all have the things that make us weak, but we choose every day between doing what is right and wrong."

"What's going to happen now?" She raised her head and looked at him. "My son is heartbroken."

Willy Wonka wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder, the pressure of his hand gentle. "I know and I need to find a way to talk to him without him being afraid that it will lead into another confrontation. He needs to know that it isn't about me forgiving him, but him forgiving me."

"I fear that it is going to take some time, Mr. Wonka," she said. Instead of backing away from him, she allowed herself to sink into the secure arms of this strange man.

For whatever reason, which she could not describe, it felt good to be held. It had been so long since someone close to her own age had even embraced or comforted her. Generally, this was because she had always been strong for others. At that precise moment, she knew that she missed Clarence more than anything in the world, but yet, she still allowed herself to feel and accept the offered friendship that the chocolatier was extending. Closing her eyes, she was aware that contrary to all the things she had heard about him, there was an element of warmth as well as truth and wisdom that emanated his words.

After several moments, she backed away and looked up at him. "I-I should get home now, it's late."

"Yes," Wonka nodded as he allowed his arms to fall away and hang down at his sides. "Shall I accompany you?"

"It's not really necessary," she began.

"I would feel much better if I were to see you home," he said. "I would not wish for anything to happen to you."

Clara nodded and rested her hand atop his offered arm.


	5. Chapter 4: Returning Home

_Author's Notes: I wanted to thank the three people for reviewing this story. I know that two of you are visiting my story from the 'Touched by an Angel' universe and it really warms my heart that you took the time to let me know that you are there and reading._

_As for individual comments, here goes:_

_Onlyaman, here's hoping that you get a taste of what the original story is about, as it is one of the most wonderful movies to date. I am glad that you are gaining interest in this film through reading my work. It warms my heart to know or at least feel that I am doing this special film justice by writing about it here. It is no secret that I am hopelessly obsessed with this film. Even as a small child, and having grown up with it, Gene Wilder is my very favorite of all the Wonka characterizations._

_I'm glad that you are finding the language of my story as more challenging. That is for me a huge compliment as it is how my writing has evolved over the span of a few years. I am also glad that it helps with the English language. Having spent the last twelve years learning German, I can appreciate the effort it takes to learn a second language. I am glad that my writing helps in that regard._

_Since many of the readers already know who the Oompa Loompas are, I will include a brief notation about them here. They are, in fact, the midgets who work for Willy Wonka. In this characterization, they have orange skin and green hair and come from a fantasy place called Loompaland, which Wonka describes as being a terrible place with fierce beasts who eat them. They were brought to the factory so they would be safe and they are depicted in the film as a big secret and Wonka has never ceased to protect and look out for them. Hope that clarifies._

_Victory-Starr, thanks for the supportive words about the story. It's wonderful to see you reading, and I'm grateful that you will continue even if AU is not your thing. Generally it's not mine, but I love to spin new ideas through one change in the course of events, as in the case here._

_YA YA, thanks again for your comments, I really do appreciate your support on this, and hopefully you're right and more people will read and review this. Knowing that you are there has helped to propel the story along, so thanks for that._

_That said, enjoy everyone, and please review._

* * *

**Chapter 4: Returning Home**

As Clara and Wonka reached the outskirts of town, the candy maker could make out the distinctive odors of milk. It smelled very much like his Whipped Cream Room back at the factory. He suddenly remembered when about ten liters of milk had gone sour and how it took days for him and the Oompa Loompas to get the odors out of the windowless room. His thoughts shifted into that of contemplation.

"What are you thinking about?" She eventually asked, her words breaking into his thoughts.

"Something about milk souring," he mused.

"We get that a lot around here," she said and pointed in the distance. "There's a dairy not too far away from here. Although it is located several kilometers away, the wind somehow always seems to send the odors back here in our direction. Anyway, depending on which way the wind is blowing, will depend on the degree of intensity of the odors. I always liked the smell because it reminded me of when I was a little girl. During the winter months, my mother would always make hot milk with honey. It tasted wonderfully and did wonders for a sore throat."

"I never really liked the taste of milk actually," he said honestly. "It was not so much the taste, but it was the memories associated with it. When I was a boy, my father always forced me to drink it. 'It always made for strong teeth and bones'. Sometimes I can still hear his voice in my head telling me these things. As I got older, I tried to shut them out. I guess I figured that the only thing milk was any good for was making really good chocolate."

"Chocolate," Clara mused. "I know it seems strange for me to say this, but when you start talking about yourself, it feels as though you're more normal than what the press has made you out to be."

"I've never been called 'normal' before, quite the contrary actually," he said smiling broadly, so much so that even in the dark, she could see that he had dimples.

He continued speaking, all the while trying to ignore the fact that she was now staring at him. "I don't usually tell people about my family. I know that it seems like I have this charmed existence, but I rather like keeping all these little inside details to myself. I suppose it is because I don't really want others to know things about me that are beyond the surface."

"Are your experiences really that bad?" She asked.

"Some of them are, yes," he said but did not elaborate. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders, but looked down at her, his eyes earnest. "Let's just say that my life is not composed entirely of chocolate and candy."

"It must be strange for you to hear someone ask you such questions," she said.

"I usually block myself from answering them," he said honestly. "Sometimes, I use the fact that I am deaf in one ear as an excuse, or I say something like 'all questions must be submitted in writing'. It has served me when things would get too personal or the one asking was just trying to probe my brain for details. Somehow you can always tell when that is the case."

Clara took a deep breath. "Then I suppose you know why it is I didn't want anyone to see me this morning at the factory gates."

"Where were you in the crowd?" He asked.

"I was to the right of the opened gate, but far enough away that you may not have noticed me at all. I could see you and thought that somersault was rather amusing," she giggled despite herself. "You're a real showman."

"Thank you," he smiled, a soft chuckle emerging.

By this time, Clara's thoughts were racing. It was strange for her to benefit from someone else's company, but there was no denying that she was enjoying his. After several minutes, she raised her head and looked at him, all the while trying to divert the focus away from her guilt for actually liking this unique man. "Are you really deaf in one ear or was that just a diversion tactic?"

He nodded. "Not by any means. I did lose my hearing in the right ear when I was about Charlie's age. It was just before my father and I moved here actually."

"How did it happen?" She asked.

"A schoolmate of mine got this toy siren and was trying it out. He stuck it right up to one side of my head and turned it on full blast, and then that was it. The doctor said that it blew the eardrum and that I would be deaf in that ear for the rest of my life," he said.

"Were you angry?" She asked.

"No, it was viewed as nothing more than a childhood prank," he said. "Did you know that when you lose one of your senses, that it sometimes enhances the others? I think it did that with me because today I have an enhanced sense of taste and smell."

"You mean, that's part of the reason why you make such great candy?" She asked.

"That's purely subjective, dear lady," he smiled. "But, at the same instance, it could very well be a logical assumption."

"Did you always want to make candy?" She asked.

"I think so," he nodded. "I think when I started in this business, I wanted to make people happy, perhaps because I wasn't very happy myself."

"You weren't?"

"No," he shook his head, but did not elaborate.

"I'm sorry."

"You have no reason to be," he said. "It was a long time ago."

"Perhaps, but still it is sad for me to hear that you have not had an easy life," she said.

"It just makes me more human."

Clara listened to these words, but found herself smiling despite her wanting to know what had happened with her son. "What about the Golden Tickets, why did you send them out?" She asked. "Was it to sell a million candy bars like my father said?"

"I can't tell you that, at least not yet," he said. "The person whom I have to explain everything to is Charlie. I can tell you that that the idea was probably the most brilliant marketing strategy I have ever known. Before you assume that I am the most arrogant person in the world for having said that, I must confess that I am not the mastermind behind it. At the same time, I was able to see the problems in this so-called 'flawless plan', after they started being found. You see, nothing about it happened the way I expected."

"What do you mean?" She asked.

Instead of immediately answering, he looked at her. She really seemed to be interested in everything he was saying, although she viewed it with a trace of realism. Her blue eyes carried the same look of inquisitiveness that her son's held during the tour and this was something quite unique about her character. He hoped that soon he and Charlie could resolve everything so that he could become friends the rest of this remarkable child's family.

"Mr. Wonka?" She spoke his name, thus bringing him out of his reverie.

"I'm sorry, I was momentarily lost in thought," he said. "What was your question again?"

"I was just wondering what you meant about the contest not being what you expected," she said. "I figured when all of this started, that you knew what a sensation you were creating."

"In a way I did," he admitted. "I watched as the tickets were being found, and I learned about what sort of people would be coming. When I saw them on television or read about them in the paper, I was somewhat surprised. Then I met them and I had to come to the realization that my expectations were too high. I was looking for perfection, and I didn't find it. What I discovered was, in fact, pretty far from it."

"No one can live up to such high expectations, though, not even the most perfect child," she said rationally. "If there was someone who was perfect in this world, then we would all be striving to emulate them."

He nodded. "That's pretty much what I discovered."

"Well, you're not that old, so maybe finding that out now is not such a bad thing," She said honestly. "I did want to apologize to you though."

"Whatever for?" He asked. "You did nothing that deemed an apology."

"When my father told me about what happened today with the other kids, I was rather upset with you," she confessed.

"You're a mother, I think it's quite understandable. You care for the welfare of your child as well as that of other children," he said.

"It's not just that," she objected. "I was very critical of you and I made an assumption about you that I shouldn't have made. The truth is, contrary to my father's rather fanciful ways, I grew up to be a realist and always prided myself on not judging others until I know the whole story."

"Is that why you've been asking so many questions?" He asked, his lips curved upwards in a typical smirk.

She nodded. "I asked because I cannot comprehend what happened. I know that I was wrong, and I'm sorry for having judged you. The truth is, while we've been talking, I cannot help but think that you're really an extraordinary individual," she paused. "What I'm trying to say is, and please excuse me if it comes out wrong, but I'm really glad we met."

"I am too," he said. "As for those other things, I cannot fault you for it, but I do thank you for being so honest with me. It would seem that I now know where Charlie got that trait from."

She lowered her head, a slight blush tingeing her face, but instead of commenting on that, they continued to walk.

By the time they had come down the dirt road and were not too far from the Bucket house, a stronger breeze was blowing and Wonka raised his head. "It looks like we could be getting a little rain soon, perhaps we ought to hurry."

She nodded. "We're almost there, we actually don't live very far away from you. It's just that beyond the tunnel it's rather hard to see the factory from our house." Several minutes later, they reached the small house and she spoke again as she made her way towards the front door. "Here we are."

Wonka found himself literally staring at the tiny one room dwelling. He swallowed, but eventually found his voice and looked at her. "I'm sorry, but you and Charlie live _here_?" He asked not bothering to hide his astonishment.

Clara nodded. "The rent is cheap and it is all we can afford. My parents and my late husband's parents also live here. Would you care to come inside? I'm sorry I cannot offer you very much, but I can at least make a pot of tea."

"No, that won't be necessary," he said. "I should probably be getting back before it starts to rain."

"Well, if you would like, you could stay until it passes…" her voice trailed as the first drops of rain started to fall. "…What I meant to say is, if you want me to, I could wake Charlie so that the two of you could talk."

"Not yet," he began, his face suddenly taking on an uncanny paleness that caused her to reach out and touch his arm. Before she could speak, he continued. "I don't want to be rude, but I really should go. Your boy needs his rest and it has been a very intense day for all of us. I'll try and find a way to keep in touch with you, if you have no objection, that is."

"No, why should I object?" She whispered.

The chocolatier smiled but started to walk away. When he was about three meters away from her, she spoke, her voice causing him to stop and turn around. "Mr. Wonka…"

"…Willy, please," he said, his voice breaking through before she could finish saying what she had intended.

"Willy," she smiled and nodded. "I want to help you resolve this with my son, but I don't know how to go about it. I do know that if you put it off for too terribly long that your silence will destroy him."

The chocolatier nodded as the rain started to get heavier and he watched her make her way towards the front door. As she did, he spoke her name. "Clara?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you, for everything," he said.

She nodded, but abruptly looked down at the warm cloak that covered her. She carefully removed it before extending it back to him. "I don't know if what I was doing was helping, but I should at least return this to you."

He accepted the offered object and wrapped it around himself. "I do appreciate your honesty," he paused. "Good night, Clara."

"Good night, Willy. Do be careful going back. The press doesn't sleep, you know," she offered him a tiny smile before disappearing inside.

Once she was gone and the door had closed behind her, the chocolatier reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and grabbed a small notebook. Opening it, he began to write down the address to the small house before tucking it away.

Clara Bucket had been delightful company, and he knew beyond any doubt that he would see her again. At the same instance, he hoped that if Violet were to decide against making contact with Charlie, he would have another way to reach the boy.

He stared for several minutes at the house where young Charlie Bucket slept. He wanted to go inside, wake the boy, and explain everything to him, but logic seemed to hold him in its hand. It was close to eleven at night, the house was dark and quiet, thus indicating that the inhabitants, sans Charlie's mother would be asleep.

His thoughts drifted back to their conversation. She was nothing that he would have surmised, in fact, it almost seemed as though coincidence was playing a role with him in this regard.

Wonka's thoughts were ravaging him as he made his way back in the direction of the factory. He felt protected from the public in that darkness, yet in the distance, a rumble of thunder could be heard over his head. "Was this the calm before the storm?" He asked himself, a slight chuckle emerging.

As his soft laughter filled the air, the rain fell even harder than it had done at the Bucket house. When it abruptly stopped, it was because he had passed his way slowly through the tunnel.

Coming out on the other side, he could feel the rain suddenly start falling again, this time much harder. Ignoring this, he allowed his eyes to take in every aspect of the trip that lie between Charlie's house and the factory. He felt an unbelievable sense of gratitude for having met Clara when he did. He had not anticipated that finding Charlie would be as easy as it had been, but he was not about to look this particular 'gift horse' in the mouth.

He smiled as he continued along the road that would return him to the factory. He was uncertain as to how their meeting would play out his eventual conversation with Charlie, but he was grateful that he had Clara in his corner and even more so that there would be another chance for him to speak with the boy that had won his contest and had yet to realize it.

By the time he reached the factory gates, the chocolatier was completely drenched. As he reached the inner confines of his most special and secret place, he felt gratefulness wash over him that he had kept the place at such a warm and comfortable temperature.


	6. Chapter 5: The Gobstopper's Fate

_Author's Note: I have decided that since people aren't reviewing this, that I am simply not in any hurry to post installments. I hate saying 'no reviews, no new installments', because that's childish and silly, but I really have no real incentive to post them quickly. I stated two chapters back that people didn't want an M-rated story from me, so I obliged that wish, but sometimes I really don't know why I bother asking people what they want. I should write for myself and not really care, but I asked and made a choice. So, now I am doing this because of the support YA YA has been giving, but otherwise, it seems rather pointless to me. Oh well, here's a chapter, when the next one comes remains to be seen._

_So, YA YA, do enjoy, and thanks for the support._

_Edited on February 3, 2008. For the record, Chapter 4 had no corrections that needed making, so that one was skipped._

* * *

**Chapter 5: The Gobstopper's Fate**

The following morning, Willy Wonka woke with a slight case of the sniffles. His walk in the rain the night before had somehow resulted in him feeling under the weather. By the time he had reached his office, he carried a simple mug of strong tea with honey in his hand.

He had not seen anyone since his unexpected meeting with Clara Bucket, in fact, he felt himself all the better for it. It was abundantly clear that he did not anticipate trying to explain his leaving the factory the night before. He knew that Thomas Wilkenson would have been worried if he had known.

Instead of going to the dining room and sitting down to have breakfast, he opted to getting an early start. This meant that he would literally burrow himself away in his office to work.

After what seemed like about an hour, but had, in fact, only been twenty minutes, he was abruptly jarred out of his concentration when someone tapped lightly on the door. He wiped the handkerchief over his nose and stuffed it back in his pocket before slowly getting to his feet. With weighted steps, he walked over to the door and carefully pulled it open.

Standing in the threshold stood Violet Beauregarde and he forced himself to smile. Although the child looked rested and her face was pretty much back to normal, he could detect a slight blueness that still remained. He assumed that it would disappear after several hours out in the sun, but said nothing to that effect, instead he greeted her. "Hello Violet, all rested up, I see."

"Yes," the girl responded as she looked up at him. What she did not expect was for him to peer curiously into her eyes and see they held a strange new color.

Instead of being brown, they now had a tinge of blueness that gave off a soothing burgundy color, which was a rather unique look for her.

She lowered her gaze, but said nothing further. Instead, her father appeared from behind her and looked at Wonka, his gaze filled with spite.

"You'll be hearing from my lawyer when we get back to the States," was all the used car salesman said as he rested his hand on his daughter's shoulder. "I was on the phone with him last night and he seems to think we have a good case. I may even be contacting Slugworth about this."

"That's rather interesting that you would make note of these things since you were using my phone in which to do it," Wonka said emotionlessly. "That shows a lot of nerve."

Sam Beauregarde shrugged his shoulders. "If you have objections, then keep in mind that it was you who was forcing us to stay the night here. I had intended on returning to the hotel with Violet, but then your strange workers came and said under no uncertain terms could we leave the premises."

Wonka took a deep breath. "Your daughter was ill from the procedure, sir, and in her state, I could not, in good conscience, permit her to leave."

"Bull," Beauregarde grumbled.

"Might I suggest that you give your lawyer a copy of the contract your daughter signed prior to the tour?" Wonka asked, completely ignoring the man's rebuttal. He walked over to his filing cabinet, removed the photocopy from the top of the files, returned before shoving the copy into the man's hand. "On the top, it states quite clearly that I am released from any liability if something were to happen. As you can see your daughter is as she was yesterday when she arrived."

"She's still blue, or are you completely blind?" the man grumbled.

"I can assure you that my vision is quite proficient," he said, but watched as the man lowered his head to read several of the visible lines on the copy.

As soon as he had finished, he took a deep breath, his voice emerging as a low grumble. "I knew there was a catch," was all he said. If there was one thing Sam Beauregarde did not like was admitting defeat, but in this case, he had no choice in the matter.

"You have been dealing with contracts long enough to know that I would not let the children into my factory without allowing myself a little protection," Wonka said matter-of-factly.

"Well, we still have Slugworth's offer," Mr. Beauregarde said.

"What would you use as a means to bargain with Slugworth?" Wonka asked.

"That candy you gave my daughter, of course," Mr. Beauregarde said, a strange smugness now etched in his voice. It appeared as though the car salesman thought he was dealing with an upper hand, but he was about to find out that this was not the case at all.

Without thinking about what her father intended, Violet reached into the pocket of her outfit and pulled out the piece of candy.

Instead of carrying the cheerful shades of reds, blues, yellows, whites, and greens, the red was now purple, the blue was considerably darker, the white was an obscure blue color, the green a putrid brown, and the yellow a murky colored orange.

The blueberry incident had somehow adversely affected everything in the girl's possession. Nervously, she stuck the object into her mouth and tasted it. Abruptly, she removed it and shook her head before distancing herself from her father and wrapping it in a piece of dark blue colored tissue that also rested in her pocket. As soon as she had wrapped it up, she began to search for a waste basket.

Finding half of one next to the desk, she approached, leaned over, and carefully laid it against the side rim so that it would not fall out onto the floor.

"Violet's Gobstopper was ruined during the incident, Mr. Beauregarde," Wonka said, all the while taking note of her movements. "The exposure to the effects of the three-course-meal gum ruined the formula. Even if Slugworth were to get his hands on it, it would prove useless, and would probably reap no reward."

"Well, there's still the Salt girl, that kid who was hooked on television, or that other boy who was here with the old man," Mr. Beauregarde said. "We'll just look one of them up."

"I doubt that would work either," Wonka said casually. "The Oompa Loompas found Veruca's Gobstopper in the garbage chute and Mike Teavee's got shrunk to nothingness when he went through Wonkavision."

"Then we'll find that other kid," Mr. Beauregarde said firmly. "Come on Violet, let's get out of here."

"But we don't even know where Charlie lives," she objected. "Even if we were to go and try to find him, we may be searching all over London."

"That is a possibility," Wonka said nonchalantly as he returned to his seat and began to once more nurse his cup of tea.

Violet looked from the candy maker to her father. An idea suddenly struck her and she leaned over and whispered something into her father's ear. "Let me talk to Mr. Wonka alone, maybe I can get him to drop his guard and tell me where Charlie is."

"You sure it'll work?" He whispered back.

"I don't know if it will or not, but it's at least worth a try," she said.

Mr. Beauregarde nodded and without so much as a question or even a word to the reclusive candy maker, he quietly left the office.

Once the door had closed behind him, Violet started to silently take in the room. She did not expect her father to let her stay and talk to Willy Wonka alone, but yet here she stood after he had allowed it. Either Sam Beauregarde really thought his daughter was a persuasive child, or he was truly at a loss as to what they could do to avenge her.

Whatever the case, Violet now stood alone in the chocolatier's office taking in various aspects of it. Eventually, she took a deep breath, all the while contemplating the weak reasoning that she had served up.

It was more than obvious to her that neither she nor her father possessed the ability to outmaneuver the candy maker. He was slipperier than a bag of eels, but instead of confessing this to her father, Violet simply allowed herself to contemplate this moment. She remained standing in the middle of the room and was now staring at the confectioner's back, all the while pondering what it was about him that held such intense fascination.

Of course Violet's actions did surprise Wonka, although he decided against making it known. He figured that he would keep her guessing, all the while not giving away too much. In fact, instead of acknowledging her presence, he simply pretended to be hard at work. Out of the corner of his eye, he continued to watch her as she took in the room.

After several minutes of this, the girl grew bored and cleared her throat, thus causing him to eventually turn around.

"I thought you had gone," he said, a tiny lie escaping from between his lips.

"You only wish I had gone," she said, but there was an element to her speech that he had never heard before. It was uncanny that she could read so much into his words, and have them actually be true.

"Perhaps," he said, but the candy maker could instinctively tell that the girl was afraid of him, although she would never have admitted it. Instead of moving towards her, he remained seated and regarded her as indifferently as he could. "What did you whisper to your father just now?"

"I told him that I would try and find out the information about Charlie from you," she said casually. "I learned that sort of trick from him, and it is strange that given his mood lately, that he actually allowed me to try."

"Violet, I cannot tell you anything, and even if I could, why would I?" He asked.

Instead of responding, she continued to take in the strangely decorated room. "Why is everything cut in half?" She asked.

"I like it that way, it's rather like 'yin' and 'yang', take out the bad and leave the good," he turned away from her and picked up a stack of papers. For him, the conversation was clearly over. Unfortunately for Wonka, he had not counted on the fact that Violet could be even more stubborn than Veruca Salt.

After several minutes of silence had passed between them, he turned around and spoke. "Violet, you really should go now. There's nothing more I can do for you."

"I know, but is it alright for me to at least ask you something without getting some sort of strange response back?" She asked a slight waver in her voice. It was clear that she was still tired as her body had started to give out and she sank to the floor. After she found herself seated on the soft carpeting, she lowered her head and rested it in her hands.

Hearing this, Wonka turned around and saw her sitting in this manner. He approached where she sat and reached out, and took her arms and gently pulled her to her feet. "You should have said you needed to sit down before you collapsed," he said in a half-scolding tone of voice, but helped her lower herself onto the same chair that he had occupied when he had tried to ignore her presence. Now it was abundantly clear that he could not shut her out as he had intended.

"I didn't want you to feel sorry for me," she said, her voice still weak, but she raised her head and looked at him.

Wonka nodded, but said nothing in response to these words. Instead, he shoved the papers that cluttered his desk to one side and half sat, half leaned up against the front of it. "Now, what did you want to ask me?" He asked, his voice soft.

"I wanted to ask if you know where Charlie Bucket lived or if you were just swindling my father," she said, all the while trying to force her intended words out.

"I wasn't swindling anyone," he said simply. "Even if your father were to find Charlie, the boy would not be able to give him what he wanted. But then again, why would I tell you or your father anything that could prove damaging to either one of us?" He paused, his question hanging in the air. Before Violet could respond, he continued. "I have been accused of being crazy, but I can assure you that I am not as crazy as I may seem."

"You must be if you honestly think that I would try to destroy you after you were so nice to me last night," Violet said sadly.

"Perhaps, but we are talking about your father, Violet," he said calmly. "No matter how upset I might have been, I would never expect you to turn against him."

"Oh, now I get it, guilt by association right? You think I'm like that only because he's my father," she nodded as she started to get to her feet. "I know that story, 'An apple doesn't fall far from the tree'. Well, maybe this time, it did."

Wonka looked at her somewhat surprised by her words, but reached out and touched her arm, thus stopping her movements. Wordlessly the girl sank back into the chair. "Violet, for all practical reasoning, I am a stranger to you. Why would you not want to destroy me if that was your father's incentive?"

"Because what happened yesterday was my choice, OK?" Her voice emerged as a practical shout and it was clear to him that she was using every last bit of energy to get those words out. Instead of speaking further, she covered her face with her hands and sat that way for several minutes. As soon as she was able to, she managed to raise her head and look at him. "You really don't think very much of me, do you?"


	7. Chapter 6: A Strange Collaboration

_Author's Notes: Yes, contrary to popular opinion, this story is still being written, although I am really getting busy working on teddy bears as well. I will try and get postings up with it, but I wanted to say something about this story in relation to my other stories, and what I generally read. I know that in my profile I am relatively picky about what I read, and I know that it limits things. However, as I have said in the past, I won't compromise my principles or beliefs to get reviews. That is, what you see is generally what you get. I hope that you can all deal with this._

_I took a few ideas that I have to give a disclaimer for, although I did not name any names. I recall a little Elf in 'Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer' that wanted to be a dentist, so that little idea was borrowed, although I always thought the story behind little Herbie (I think that was his name) who wanted to be a dentist. With that, I sort of borrowed an idea from the 2005 movie since the 1971 film doesn't go into Wonka's background or family. So it's a nice little hodgepodge concept I am playing about with. I also recall the actress who played Violet in the original movie saying something in the commentary about having to spend a lot of time at the dentist because there was no sugarless gum back then, so that little bit was inspired through a lot of different things, those being the main ones._

_YA YA sorry to hear about your computer, I know how that is. I'm glad that you were able to post a review notwithstanding the issues that you were faced with. It means a great deal to me._

_Onlyaman, I hope that soon you get to see the film. But, if you have any questions about it, just ask either as a PM or in your reviews. I'll do my best to respond with an answer. At least until you get to see the movie, which is hopefully soon._

_DeborahW, many thanks for letting me know what you think. Your feedback is greatly appreciated and I am really glad to know that there is someone who is reading this and enjoying it although partial to another Wonka area (in your case, the book). I have seen or read all things Wonka, so I can see where you might have contention with it, as the musical does have its differences from the book. Most folks who know me know that since I grew up with this film, I am rather partial to it. At any rate, I am really grateful to you for letting me know what your thoughts are, and am glad that you gave me some ideas for the Clara & Wonka angle. I am leaning more towards the ship, but like with many things and me, I'm taking a more subtle approach. _

_Enjoy everyone and please review._

_Edited on February 3, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 6:** **A Strange Collaboration**

Wonka was taken aback, but instead of immediately speaking, he crouched down so that he would be eye level with her. "You learned from your mistakes, didn't you?" he asked, his voice unusually soft.

"I guess," she said but managed a very slow and deliberate nod.

"You really don't blame me for any of this, do you?" He asked.

"No, so do you want me to sign another contract stating that?" She asked brokenly.

Wonka shook his head. "No, I don't want you to do that at all."

Violet lowered her head. "I thought that if it looked like I was helping my father, that he might see me as more…" her voice trailed off and she could feel the tears stinging her eyes. As they escaped from beneath the lids she tried to wipe them away.

"…And you think that finding Charlie could help you better relate to your father, correct?" He asked.

"I don't know, maybe," she hedged. She lowered her head and wiped the tears away with another purple tissue.

"Violet, I'm going to tell you a little secret," Wonka said as he pulled the Gobstopper from his pocket. He held the object between his thumb and forefinger in front of her. "Charlie gave the Everlasting Gobstopper back. Your father wouldn't be able to get it from him because he doesn't have it anymore."

She reached towards it, but he quickly captured it in his fist and returned it to his vest pocket. "That was really the one you gave him?" She asked.

The candy maker nodded. "It was. I haven't been back to the Inventing Room since yesterday."

"But he could have sold it to Slugworth," she objected. "His family is practically living in poverty. Of the four of us who got them, he could have been the one who benefited the most from that horrible man's offer."

"He probably could have, but he didn't," he said.

"Why would he just give it back?" she asked.

"Honesty, integrity; your guess is as good as mine," he responded.

"But there must have been a reason for him to do it. I mean; having it could have helped them all, couldn't it?"

"It probably could have," he said, but looked at her, his eyes intent. "How did you know so much about them?"

"I read about his family in the paper yesterday. It didn't say very much about his mother except that she works at a laundry, and Charlie delivers newspapers," she said. "While my father and I were eating breakfast at the hotel yesterday morning, I saw this article about him just before we left to come here. I thought he was cute, so I read through it and it said that he was doing all these things to help his family along. I had never met anyone my age who did that sort of thing."

"You admired him, in other words," Wonka said.

"Maybe, but it makes no difference," she mused.

Willy Wonka raised his head. "But it does. You want to do something to help Charlie Bucket and his family, don't you?"

"What can I do?" She asked. "I'm just a stupid kid."

"You are a child, but you're not stupid," he said smiling. "The reason I ask is because I think that given what has happened, you stand a far better chance of reaching Charlie than I do. I would like to do something for him, but because of what happened yesterday, I am not exactly sure I will be able to without your help."

"What do you mean?" She asked. "Why do you need my help?"

He took a deep breath. "Well, I got very angry with him and his grandfather yesterday," he confessed. "I yelled at them both because of something that happened after you and your father had left the tour."

"_You_ yelled?" Violet looked at him. Her father yelled, even she did when she was really upset or angry, but she could not believe that Willy Wonka would ever yell. In fact, to the twelve-year-old girl, this man seemed to be the epitome of calmness. Sometimes it was downright scary as to how calm he could be in the face of panic or hysteria. Eventually, she continued speaking. "You must have been really upset if you yelled. You didn't even yell at me when…" her voice trailed and she looked away.

"I half expected you to do what you did," he said honestly. "With them it was more subtle and much harder for me to contend with. The truth is, if I had known then what I do now about you, then I would never have set you up for this."

"But it was a set-up," she whispered. "You knew all along."

"Yes, I did," he nodded. "I knew from the start that chewing gum was something that could cause you to waver."

She lowered her head. "I should probably hate you just as much as my father does for that," she started to get up and walk back towards the door. Instead of letting her leave, he walked over to her and rested his hands on her shoulders. This made her turn around and when she did, he noticed that her head was lowered. He reached over and touched it in very much the same manner as he had done the first moment they met. Upon feeling this, she listened as his next words emerged.

"If you hate me then do so for your own reasons, and not for your father's."

"I-I don't hate you," she managed to speak.

"But, you don't like me very much, do you?" He asked with an understanding nod.

"I don't know, maybe I'm just scared of you," she responded, her honest words simple. She looked away.

"Why?" He asked.

"I don't know," she said timidly.

"You think I would let something happen to you after being so honest?" He asked. When she offered a nervous nod, he continued speaking, his words filled with every trace of sincerity that he was capable of offering. "I wouldn't. Of the four of you who got hurt here, you're the only one I went to see."

"Why?"

He rubbed his hands together, his eyes closing momentarily. "Because, like I said, I think I may need your help with something."

"Why me?" She asked weakly.

"Why not you?" He countered. "Do you want to help me, or are you too afraid of me to give it a try?"

"I failed you once already," she looked away.

"You didn't fail me, Violet, you failed yourself," he said as he took her chin in his hands and turned her head so that she was looking at him. "Now, if you agree to help me, then all you would have to do is your best. I would never consider you a failure for that." He paused. "Will you help me rectify my mistake?"

"It would depend on what it is," she said honestly. "If you want me to test something else, then forget it."

He chuckled, but shook his head. "Don't worry, you don't have to test anything. I need you to go and talk to Charlie Bucket."

"You know where he lives?" She asked.

"Yes, I have his address right here," he turned and retrieved the notebook from off the desk. From it, he removed the slip of paper an extended it to her.

"OK," she said without really thinking twice about what she was agreeing to.

Willy Wonka smiled, and this time his expression was lined with pleasant surprise. He half expected her to ask him what was in it for her, but she didn't. Instead, she accepted the piece of paper from him and tucked it away. He was amazed that she had agreed to go out into this strange city, and look for Charlie no questions asked. Perhaps he had been too hasty in his judgments of her. Maybe Clara had been right, maybe Violet Beauregarde had just as great a potential at being a good and honest child as Charlie did.

"Mr. Wonka, what should I tell him when I find him?" She asked, thus bringing him out of his contemplations.

"Just see if you can persuade him to come back to the factory."

"That may not work," she said rationally. "He might be mad at you."

"I know, just do your best," he said. "I don't expect you to force him to come, and I won't be angry with you if you cannot persuade him, I just know that given what is happening out there right now, I cannot leave the factory during the daylight hours to go and talk to him."

"But you can leave at night?" Violet asked as a small giggle emerged. "Now, you sound like a vampire."

"I prefer chocolate to blood," he smirked.

This time Violet laughed, but after seconds passed, that died off and she looked up at him. "Do you know what's funny?" She asked.

"What?"

"I was never very proud of being the daughter of a used car salesman, but maybe I can use another one of my father's pitches," she said. "You think that might work?"

"I don't really know," he said simply. "I find honesty to work better in some cases." He paused and inhaled slowly. "I appreciate your help, Violet."

"Thank me after Charlie comes, I still have to think of something to tell my father," she said. "It may not be that hard though. Maybe if I tell him I'm going to try and find Charlie, he'll let me go and I won't have to go to some boring car museum. You know, I think sometimes that my dad wishes I was a boy instead of a girl so that I could one day do what he does."

"It's not what you want, though, is it?" He asked.

She shook her head. "I thought about what I wanted when I came here, and then last night I changed my mind."

"Let me guess, before you came it had something to do with bubblegum?" He smiled.

She nodded but closed her eyes. "Mr. Wonka, how does a person really know what they really want to do?"

"One of the things someone once told me a long time ago is that when you go to bed at night it's the last thing you think about, and when you wake in the morning, it's the first thing you think of. Whatever that is, then that is what you are meant to be," he said. "Does that help?"

"I think so."

"Do you want to tell me what your dream is?" He asked.

"You promise you won't laugh?" She asked.

"I can't promise that, I might," he smirked, but when he saw her insecure facial expression, he continued speaking. "Violet, I would never laugh at you or your dream."

Violet thought for several minutes and then began to speak. "When I was really little, I used to watch this show on television every Christmas, and it had this elf who wanted to be a dentist. I never told anyone this, but after seeing that, I thought it would be kind of neat to do that. I mean; something that people think is scary, but I would try to make it not so scary."

Without warning, he began to laugh heartedly.

"It's not funny," she said, not fully understanding his reaction. "I'm being serious."

As soon as his laughter subsided, he began to shake his head in profound disbelief. "I'm not laughing at you, Violet," he said smiling. "I'm laughing because my father was a dentist."

"He was?"

"Yes, and that was what he wanted me to become as well," he said. "He couldn't really accept that I wasn't interested in it. It just wasn't what I wanted." He waved his hand around the office as though indicating the factory. "This is what I wanted."

"And you did it, you had a dream and you fulfilled it," she smiled. "Do you think I could fulfill my dream too?"

"Of course you can. A dream is what keeps you a child inside, even after you grow up. It gives you something that makes everyday feel like Christmas."

"That's beautiful," she said.

"It's just the truth, but anyway, we've digressed enough, I think," he said. "You need to get going and I, unfortunately, have a mountain of paperwork to do."

"There is something worse than the prospect of being a dentist, you know," she said, her eyes shining mischievously.

"What could be worse?" He asked.

"You could have ended up selling cars," she said with a giggle. "You already got the look down." It was clear by her teasing voice, that she was no longer afraid of him.

As he noticed this, he reached over and captured both of her arms in his. "Now what's that supposed to mean?"

She continued to giggle. "You laughed at me first."

"OK, you got me there, and I'll keep that in mind if ever a wangdoodle gets me down," he smiled. "Now, I really do have to get busy."

She nodded, but instead of immediately speaking, she took a deep breath. "I'm really glad we talked," she said. "I wish we could have done that before the tour."

"You do?" He asked. When she nodded he continued speaking. "Would it have changed your actions?"

She nodded. "I think so, because I would have known that you cared and that you understood how I felt."

The chocolatier was somewhat taken aback by her earnest words, but instead of contemplating too much into it, he wrapped her in his arms and gave her a hug. As the embrace ended, he backed away from her and looked into her eyes. "I care for all five of you, it was just in a way that is perhaps a lot harder for you to see or understand."

Not knowing what to say, she remained silent as his next words emerged.

"I want you to be careful when you're out there, alright? I know this is a strange city for you, and perhaps a little bit scary," he said. He helped her to her feet and then went over to the desk to retrieve a second piece of paper. This one contained a small map with the area of town where Charlie lived. He extended it to her.

"I will," she said but folded the papers and carefully put them in her pocket. "Thanks for everything," With that, she left the office and closed the door behind her.

Once she was gone, Wonka took a deep breath and shook his head. People continued to pleasantly surprise him at every turn. He only hoped that Charlie would be the source of that very same thing.


	8. Chapter 7: Does Life Really Go On?

_Author's Note: just so you know, where the last chapter had quite a bit of dialogue, this one doesn't have much. It is more or less a transitional chapter, but one that I think is important. It does go into the psychology of the characters, specifically of Charlie._

_Thanks for the reviews, and the encouragement to continue working with this plot idea. Let me know what you think and thanks._

_Edited on February 4, 2008 for continuity._

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**Chapter 7: Does Life Really Go On?**

The day after the chocolate factory tour, the press descended on the Bucket house like a troupe of vultures. Instead of hanging around and being subjected to an interview, Charlie, with the help of his mother and grandfather, managed to sneak out the back window and race across the field in the direction of the local cemetery.

The boy figured that there, he would have some peace and quiet. He hoped that no one would think to look for him, although he was surprised at how easy it had been to get away. Of course, he had more than his share of experiences with running. Those who knew him seemed to always see him running somewhere, whether it was along the path of his paper route or going to and from school.

Grandpa Joe had known him well enough to realize that he wanted nothing more than to get away from the probing questions about what it had been like to tour the famous chocolate factory or what Willy Wonka had been like. The boy just wanted it to be over.

If the truth were known, Charlie Bucket did not want to admit to anyone except Willy Wonka that he had been wrong and had made a mistake. Of course, he also knew that his wish and reality were placed at two separate ends of the spectrum.

It was more than clear to his entire family that all Charlie wanted to do was get away from home and wait for the hoopla to die down. On the other hand, it seemed more than obvious to him that over breakfast, his mother seemed unwilling to let the subject drop. It was as though she knew something that he did not. This left the boy to ponder what that something was. For all he knew, this was just her being a parent. Of course, Clara did not even mention what had happened during her walk the previous evening, and Charlie did not feel himself inclined to inquire.

By this time, he had reached the gates of the cemetery and slipped quietly inside.

Sometimes he would walk around this place looking at the different stones and thinking about matters of life and death. Today, all he wanted to do was connect himself to his father. He reached the nondescript grave and sat down on the ground, the early morning dew soaking through his clothing until it reached his skin.

He shivered, but trying to block out his physical discomfort, he could feel the bittersweet tears stinging his eyes. He cried very seldom, in fact, the last time he really wept, was when Clara had told him that his father had died. Her words had made him feel an emptiness that he could not even describe.

The morning sun that shone down on him was warm, but all around him there seemed to be a crispness that only came after a rain shower. It was warm sitting in the sun, but when it slipped behind the clouds, he could feel the coldness against the thin jacket he wore. Contrary to the fact that it was still the early parts of October, it still felt bitterly cold.

Ever since his father's passing, Charlie had visited the cemetery rather often, at least once every week, sometimes twice depending on his mood. He never really told his mother or grandparents about what he did while visiting his father, usually he would simply talk to the stillness as though wishing Clarence could somehow respond to his words.

The boy had always believed that his father could hear him whenever he spoke, and this made it feel as though instead of talking to someone who was far away, his father was right there beside him.

Through these dialogues, Charlie found himself talking about the daily trials and tribulations of being a kid. Of course, there were moments when he sorely wished that there was someone who could be there to respond to his words.

He rubbed the moisture from beneath his eyes. Somehow, amidst all of the thoughts and feelings that the boy was experiencing, he still managed to associate this place with the pain, sorrow, or heartache at having lost someone close to him.

Contrary to being cold, he remained seated on the ground, his gaze staring at the dew that covered the stone. It was no secret that his heartfelt wish was to be able to come here and not have to think about Willy Wonka or the chocolate factory tour. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, his mind simply could not shut it out.

As he fought against these conflicting thoughts and emotions, he realized that there was no feasible way for him to avoid contemplating it. Instead of trying, he simply covered his face with his hands and tried to rub the persistent tears away.

How he hated to cry in public, as it was more or less something a girl would do. Yet, here in this place, he figured that it was alright. If someone were to have asked, all he would have to do is point to the stone, and then they'd understand. After all, people cried in these sorts of places all the time and no one thought less of them for doing it. It was almost expected of them. They did not have to know that he was sad because of something that had happened in the land of the living. It really was none of their business anyway.

Looking down at the ground, he bit down on his lip as the tears unconsciously streamed from beneath his eyes. Everything that was in his line of vision suddenly swam before him. The paths that extended away from where he was sitting had now meshed together, thus leaving the ground looking like a brown colored puddle. He inhaled and released it in the form of a sigh.

Ever since Charlie and his grandfather had left the factory, he had pondered if he could have handled the situation differently had he been a grown up. He recalled the moment when Mr. Wonka had yelled at his grandfather and then turned on him and did the very same thing. He could not help but wonder how these events would have played out if he had been older. Could he have gone to the chocolatier and lashed back out at him? This question seemed to dominate all the things that remained in his conscience.

Charlie was not a boy with a temper, but he was very sensitive when it came to being yelled at. Instead of contemplating the 'what if' scenarios, he simply covered his face with his hands and blocked out the path, the gravestones, and the entire world.

Generally it was easy for him to lose himself in his thoughts, but right now, with them being centered on one single, solitary thing, there was nothing he could do but allow the feelings to drift at will. Of course, he seriously contemplated a time when his life had been much easier. This had probably been during the time several months before his father had died. The illness that had taken Clarence had been quick, but it had not been without its sadness and pain. It had robbed his entire family of someone who was vital and important.

Today, both the Golden Ticket and the Everlasting Gobstopper were gone. His pockets were now empty and his heart felt weighted down and cold as well. It was as though these objects symbolized an overwhelming lacking that dwelled in the heart of the boy.

Strangely, the parallels that lie between his father and Willy Wonka were so similar that it was uncanny. His father had betrayed him by dying, and the chocolatier had done so by yelling.

Charlie had lost more than just these two objects, he had also lost the trust and faith in the man whom he had spent his entire childhood idolizing. The world he had once known seemed to have fallen to pieces as though they had been nothing more than autumn leaves that were crushed beneath his feet. To the boy, it felt rather like he had lost his father all over again.

Now, the thought of his returning to the factory seemed about as remote as there being another Golden Ticket contest. Everything had suddenly changed for him and the prospect of returning filled him with absolute dread.

It was blatantly clear that his mother was worried. When she got this way, she went for walks. Upon waking that morning, Charlie had noticed that her shawl was now draped casually over the back of one of the chairs. This was the indicator that she had gone out the night before and most likely had gotten wet. The other indicator was that she was moving about the house with a cup of tea in one hand and a worn out handkerchief in the other.

He had heard the thunder from outside, but had not given it a second thought. Instead, he pretended to be asleep as his mother had come inside and silently dressed for bed. For several moments, his thoughts drifted back to how she had reacted with the Golden Tickets and how her skepticism seemed to keep them all grounded in reality.

Yet, that very morning, Clara's stance seemed to be a bit different. Instead of being worried and downtrodden, she was smiling and for reasons he could not determine, seemed uncharacteristically happy. Her eyes were brighter than he had seen in months. He was tempted to come out and ask her why it was she was in such a good mood when he felt completely drowned in misery. Instead of confronting her, he simply opted to saying nothing.

Charlie was grateful that his mother was in relatively good humor, and figured that it would be better than coming out and telling her what he and Grandpa Joe had done. He knew his mother and figured that she would be as disappointed in him as he was in himself. If anything was going to be said about the factory, then it would have to come from his grandfather and not from him.

At that moment, he raised his head only briefly, the leaves that drifted across Clarence Bucket's gravestone now carrying the typical colors of autumn, his once favorite time of year. Perhaps it was this time of year that came before winter, which was when his father had been taken away. Now Clara Bucket was the head of the family and she was forced to take on a job and work long and hard hours to support the family.

Charlie looked at the satchel that he always carried. It was generally filled with newspapers, but since today was Sunday, he had the day off and would not have to deliver them. The following morning, he would return to his paper route and school. This basically meant that his life would go back to the drab monotony that it had been just before all of this had happened. Of course, he knew that one of the basic changes would be everyone asking for information about Willy Wonka and the factory.

"Dad?" he spoke to the stillness. "I did something bad and I don't know how to fix it. I think I disappointed someone I admire and now I feel terrible. I wish you were here to tell me what to do, or to at least take me in your arms like you used to do whenever I had been bullied at school. I need you to tell me that everything is going to be OK, because right now I don't think it ever will be."

As he spoke, he closed his eyes all the while ignoring the rustling of leaves that could be detected in the distance. He assumed it to be the wind, as it had been a blustery morning. Instead of paying it any mind, he continued, his voice cracking. "Grandpa Joe and I got to tour Willy Wonka's chocolate factory yesterday. I actually found a Golden Ticket if you can believe that. The funniest thing about it is, I thought that it was going to be great, but it wasn't. I mean; if I had really known what was going to happen and how empty I would end up feeling, I would have preferred to have not gone at all."

He wiped his face with his hand. "I came out here because I thought that it was the only place where I wouldn't have to talk about it, but right now it's all I can think of. The house is full of reporters and other people and Mom and Grandpa Joe are trying to keep them from going out and looking for me." He covered his face with his hands and allowed the tears to fall at will. "I don't want to go back, Dad."

These words seemed to hang in the air, but what surprised him was as soon as they seemed to have drifted to the heavens, a voice emerged.

"Charlie, is that you?"


	9. Chapter 8: Resolutions

_Thanks Ya-Ya, again this chapter is for you with my thanks for reviewing._

_Please folks humor me and review this._

_Edited on February 4, 2008._

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**Chapter 8: Resolutions**

Charlie raised his head, but haphazardly brushed his hand over his face, thus smearing the tears away. Turning around, he could see that Violet Beauregarde was coming down the path towards him. What's she doing here? He asked himself, but somewhere deep inside of him, he was happy to see that not only was she back to normal, but that she was alone.

The girl walked towards him, her body somewhat wavering, but her face somehow different than the loud, obnoxious expression that he had seen at the factory the day before. He did not know her very well, in fact, the short time they had spoken in the Chocolate Room now seemed like a faded memory to him. There was a prettiness in her stance that made him think that it she was perhaps not the same girl he had met.

Wonka had made the statement about her being wiser for the wear, perhaps that was what he had meant. She seemed a lot more humble, and her stance now seemed shy, almost reserved.

He got to his feet and walked over to her. The first thing he noticed was that she was not chewing gum. "What are you doing here?" He asked, his voice filled with a strange mixture of annoyance and surprise.

"I don't know," she smiled weakly, her gaze drifting about. "I was looking for you because I wanted to talk to you."

"How did you find me?" He asked, his voice somewhat unnerved. Deep down inside, he was fearful that she would be leading the press to him, and right now he wanted to be alone.

"Luck, I guess," she said shrugging her shoulders trying to sound much calmer than she really felt. If truth were known, she was more nervous than she had been when she met Willy Wonka the first time.

"Luck?" Charlie looked at her and shook his head. "There's no such thing. Violet, what do you want?"

"I need to talk to you," she repeated after several seconds of awkward silence passed between them.

"What about?" He asked, his voice sounding more strained than anything.

"It's something really important."

"Important?" He asked. He looked at her, his face still lined in skepticism. "You spend your holiday in London looking for me when you could be out seeing the sites. What's this all about?"

"I made a promise to someone," she said as she looked down at her lap. Instead of speaking further, she lowered herself onto the damp ground, her knees folding beneath her weight.

"Who did you make a promise to?" He asked all the while hoping that he would not have to coerce the story out of her.

"Mr. Wonka," she said, but paused before continuing. "I talked to him yesterday evening when they were squeezing the last of the juice out of me." Without thinking about it, she shuddered. "Charlie, last night, he comforted me."

"That's nice," he mumbled. "At the end, he wasn't very kind to me at all."

"Is that why you are so upset?" She asked, her question filled with blunt undertones.

"I don't know," he said simply. "So what happened to you?"

"I don't remember very much," she admitted. "The truth is I was kind of drifting in and out of sleep throughout the experience. I woke up when I sensed that someone standing over me. Then I opened my eyes and it was him. I kept hoping that it would be my father, but he was too busy. Mr. Wonka was there and he was standing over and looking down at me. I didn't notice him until he wiped my face with a handkerchief."

"You were crying," he said.

She nodded. "It hurt real bad, especially at the end."

"The juicing?"

"Yeah," the girl nodded.

"When did you leave the factory?" He asked curiously.

"This morning," she said. "After it was all over, Mr. Wonka allowed us stay the night. I guess he figured that I would be physically unable to leave, and he was right. I'm still feeling pretty tired from all that."

Charlie nodded, she did look a little blue in the face. "Did you see him again after that?" Charlie asked, clasping his hands together as his eyes closed momentarily. When he opened them again, the girl was still seated next to him.

"We talked again this morning," she said. "Even though I remembered very little about last night, he told me that he cared about all of us. He said that he was also worried about me, and that was a first."

"What do you mean?" Charlie asked.

Violet lowered her head. "My dad didn't seem to care, and I had to lie there and listen to him talk about suing Mr. Wonka and I wanted to scream at him, but I couldn't even do that."

"Are you angry with Mr. Wonka about what happened?" He asked.

She shook her head. "No, he told me to stop, and I didn't listen. I guess I'm more angry at myself. We ended up talking about everything and he said that he understood why I did what I did."

"Why did you?"

"It was the challenge and the idea that I wanted to do something that no one else had ever done before. I guess in doing it, I wanted my father to actually see me," she said. "It's stupid. Then just before I fell asleep, I asked him to forgive me, and he nodded, but said that I should try and go to sleep. He was nice Charlie, much nicer than I had assumed during the tour. I thought, especially on the boat, that he was creepy. Now, I know that he's not, he's just different."

Charlie nodded. "I thought he was great at first. I mean; there was nothing to compare to the day when I found the money. I was so surprised, but then after I left the candy store and heard all the commotion on the street, I stood there with a candy bar in my bag and everyone was talking about phony tickets. It all happened so fast. I opened the candy bar and saw the Golden Ticket. It was like being hit over the head with a baseball bat. I held it up and began to read it. Then some woman grabbed my hand and started to pull me into the crowd. Mr. Jopeck, he's the guy I deliver papers for, saw all of this happening and he helped me to get away from the people. From there I ran home, and on the way I was confronted by Slugworth." He shook his head. "You want to talk about creepy, that's creepy."

"That's how you found the ticket?" She asked.

He nodded. "I probably should have used the money for bread or something to share with my family, but I wanted a candy bar, so I bought one, and ate it. Then I bought a second, and the ticket was inside."

"You regret everything that happened, don't you?" She asked.

Charlie sat back down on the ground. "I suppose I do."

"Why?" She asked as she followed his lead.

"I saw my grandfather angry, and then I saw Mr. Wonka angry, and it was me that caused all the anger to happen in the first place. It was all my fault. I watched as Mr. Wonka got angrier, and then he turned and started yelling at me. I didn't mean to do anything to make him mad, but he was so angry."

"Were you afraid that he was going to hit you?" She asked.

"No, but yelling is worse than being hit," he said. "When people yell, it's generally something you don't forget about. If they hit you, then it's over with. The thing is, I've never seen Grandpa Joe angry, but he was, he was really angry and that scared me. He called Mr. Wonka a 'inhumane monster'. Then Mr. Wonka shouted back at him and I was just left standing there not knowing what to do. I was watching them both and I was so tempted to run out of the room, find a corner and just crawl into it."

"That must explain why Mr. Wonka was so unhappy last night," Violet mused.

Charlie looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"When I talked to him, I noticed that he looked kind of sad," she said.

"He never looked sad to me, he just looked irritated. I really hate it when grownups yell. They're always tell us to put a lid on our anger, but yet they don't even know how to do it themselves. They just start yelling and it's really scary. It reminded me of how angry I was after my father died."

"You know, I guess I'm different, 'cause I get mad at my dad all the time, even when he's kind of mean," she mused. "I guess it's better than not having him around at all, huh?"

Charlie nodded. "That's why I came here, I needed some time to think, and talk it over with my dad." He pointed to the headstone and once she had read the name and nodded, he continued speaking. "I sometimes come out here and want nothing more than to scream at someone but no one is there. Sometimes I want to yell at God for taking my father away and making my life terrible. It's funny, but I thought that if I could find a Golden Ticket, that my dreams would not unravel on me, but I found one and they still did."

"Charlie, what happened that made you give Mr. Wonka the Everlasting Gobstopper back?" Violet asked and as if anticipating his question, she smiled weakly. "He showed it to me and told me about it."

"I don't know. I was standing in his office and he's yelling, and wagging his finger at me. I just wanted to run away because I felt silly at that moment. It wasn't the same as when he told you to stop chewing the gum. He was really yelling at me." He paused and took a deep breath as Violet nodded. "Did he even tell you that my Grandpa Joe and I broke his rules?"

"No, but he said that Veruca went down the garbage chute, which I thoroughly enjoyed hearing about. Then he said that Mike was shrunk down to about the size of a bean. He didn't mention you at all, but I could tell that something had happened and he regretted it."

"He regretted it?" Charlie mused, but shook his head. "You know what's funny?"

"What?"

"During the time that all of this happened, I kept thinking that if I concentrated hard enough, that I could make things right again. I wanted him to forgive me for having done something that he considered to be wrong." As he spoke, he got to his feet and started to walk away. "It's like looking back on something and wishing that I had done it differently."

"I guess I assumed that you just went home with your lifetime supply of chocolate and lived happily ever after," she mused.

Charlie shook his head. "'Happily ever after' doesn't exist."

"Maybe it does," she said. "Maybe you should just go back and try and resolve this for yourself."

"Go back?" He asked. "Go back where?"

"Go back to the factory and give Mr. Wonka another chance," she said.

"Why should I?" He asked. "You weren't there, you didn't see what happened."

"No, I wasn't, but if you don't then you'll never be able to make right those wrongs that you feel you had done," she said. "I know that it seems strange for me to tell you what you should do. I'm not the perfect kid, you're better at that than me."

"I'm not perfect," Charlie said. "I just don't know how to play the game by Willy Wonka's rules."

"None of us do, but, Charlie, of the five of us, you're obviously the one who left the biggest impact on him. He showed me that he cared. I was crying and he was there for me. My own father wasn't even paying attention, but there's something about Mr. Wonka that I learned when we talked."

"What's that?"

"In his own way, he cares for all of us, he's just got a strange way of showing it," she smiled despite herself.

"He said that?" Charlie asked.

Violet nodded.

"And now you're saying that I left an impact on him?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, you did," she nodded.

"What should I do, Violet?" He asked. "It seems you know Mr. Wonka far better than any of us."

"Just come back with me to the factory and see what happens," she said.

"Do you know what's going to happen?"

"No, but maybe you should just let him come to you. If he knows you're there, then he'll find a way," she said.

Charlie shook his head. "I don't know if I can even face him. Call me a coward, but even if I wanted to, I have no idea what I would say to him. For all I know I might start crying and say something stupid."

"Maybe you should just let him do the talking," she said. "Let him tell you how he feels about what happened."

Charlie glanced down at his father's grave and then nodded. "I don't have anything to lose in going, do I? After all, it seems as though I've already lost everything anyway."

The girl said nothing, instead she wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulder and the two kids left the cemetery.


	10. Chapter 9: A Hopeful Meeting

_Before anyone asks, I am not trying to ship Charlie and Violet. I think that kids that age can just be good friends without getting involved romantically. _

_Enjoy, but please review._

_Edited and updated on February 5, 2008_

* * *

**Chapter 9: A Hopeful Meeting**

Charlie and Violet returned to the gates of the factory that same afternoon. The place looked very much as it had looked when Clara had been there the night before. Charlie's thoughts seemed to drift as the two kids reached the gates, their curious eyes taking in the area in the hopes that they would not have to leave abruptly in order to ditch the press.

Although Charlie was perfectly willing and able to run away from them, he could tell that from her experiences, Violet was not able to run as fast as he could. As they stood there, she took a deep breath as her eyes came to rest on the smokestacks that rose over the factory complex.

"It's strange how only yesterday we were inside," she mused, her voice neither happy nor sad. She closed her eyes as the cool breeze wafted against her face.

Charlie took a deep breath. "I used to walk by here every day. I would smell the fragrance of chocolate and other candies and would just stand here and stare at the lights as they blinked on and off. Sometimes the fragrance was so intense that I thought I would fall over from it. When the wind would blow out from the factory grounds, then on any given day, you could smell chocolate."

"I guess I can understand why you're upset about what happened, you're more emotionally attached to this place than me or the others," she said. "I know I sound like a psychologist, but that's what my mother does for a living. Strange mix, huh?"

"Now that you mention it, where's your dad?" Charlie asked.

"He left me on my own after we left the factory. I guess he went to some antique car museum or something. Either that, or he's doing business deals like he was doing last night." Her voice emerged bitter. "My dad is about as interested in me as I am in selling cars."

"You don't seem the type," he said, his words simple.

"I hope not. The truth is, I haven't really thought about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Well, I did when I talked to Mr. Wonka this morning and confessed wanting to one day go to dental school. Anyway, my dad thinks I'm going to sell cars, my mother thinks I will study psychology, but I always wanted to do something really different."

"I hear that there's a new study called 'automotive psychology'," Charlie said smiling.

Violet giggled, but before she could respond, she watched as Charlie turned and looked inside the factory courtyard.

When he saw something that resembled movement, he looked at her, but pointed. "Did you see that?"

"No, what is it?"

"I don't know, I thought I saw movement," he began to stare even more intently into the courtyard, but because the back part of the factory grounds was cast in shadows, it rendered any further observations pointless.

"Sorry, I wasn't really paying attention," she said, but still stared off in the direction that he was pointing in. After several minutes, she took a deep breath. "Maybe the lights are playing tricks on our eyes."

"No, there is something going on back there," Charlie said. "I have no idea what it could be. It looks like the sun's light is playing off of some sort of mirrored object back there." He thought for a moment and then looked at her. "I got an idea."

"What?"

"I need a mirror or something that could reflect light. If we can use it, then we can try and get their attention without having to call out to them," he said. "Did he even tell you what to do when you got back here?"

"No, and I didn't think to ask," she said. "Pretty stupid huh?"

"You can't think of everything," he mused.

Violet felt the side of her purse and suddenly looked at him. "Charlie, my mother gave me a small compact to carry in my purse. It has a mirror inside, and if we use it right, then we can send a signal to the windows," she said.

"Get the mirror out, it should work as long as the sun stays out," Charlie said.

Violet dug in her small purse and pulled out a small brown colored object. She flipped it open. Turning around, she tried to use the object to act as a reflector. As the sun struck it, a small rainbow of light could be seen perpendicular to the glass, but a white beam of light shot off the mirror towards the building. Violet moved that around and tried to allow the light to ricochet towards one of the few windows on the nearest building of the large complex.

"Do you know if it will catch anyone's attention?" He asked.

"Well, if his 'workers' see it, then they will probably let him know," she said as she continued to play about with the mirror and watched as the reflected light danced across one of the windows. "I just hope we don't have to do this for too long. When the sun sets, there will be no way for us to signal him. Not only that, but my dad will probably want me to be back at the hotel."

Charlie took a deep breath. "It may not be worth it."

Before she could respond, out of the corner of her eye, she could see that someone was approaching. Gasping, the compact suddenly slipped from her fingers and shattered against the ground. "Charlie," she managed to stammer his name but back away from the gate as though terrified of something.

The boy watched as her face suddenly went from a pale blue to white.

For her part, Violet stiffly bit down on her lip and started to back away, her actions taking Charlie by surprise.

"What's the matter?" He asked.

"Charlie, we've gotta get out of here," she managed to speak, her voice a low whisper.

"Why?" He asked all the while not seeing who was coming towards them until the man's hand suddenly came to rest on his shoulder. Without speaking further, he slowly turned around and looked up. Anything the boy could have said was now caught in his throat.

His gaze altered and he found himself looking back at Violet, the fright evident in his eyes. He backed away from the man and through that, ended up breaking the contact that had been initiated. He reached out, grabbed Violet's hand, and once he had retained a hold, the two children ran away as fast as they could.

As they distanced themselves from the factory, Charlie led her back in the direction of his neighborhood. After running about a block, Violet's breathing became so heavy that she gasped. "Charlie, please stop, I can't run anymore," she managed to speak, her voice emerged in a wheezing breath.

The boy abruptly stopped but turned around. "Do you know who that was?"

Violet nodded. "It was Slugworth, I remember him as though it was yesterday. He was polishing cars at my parents' car lot when they were interviewing us. He was not even hired to do that, but he was making himself look as though he was blending in. After that interview, he started talking to me, and then right after that he just disappeared. I hadn't seen him since."

"Did you notice that he was in the crowd at the factory yesterday," Charlie said. "I saw him there standing there flashing the 'thumbs up' sign at us. He was right next to the barricade."

Violet felt a tremor curse through her and he could see that she was frightened. She turned around and looked to see if Wonka's adversary was still behind them. "He scares me, Charlie. How do we know if he's not trailing all five of us?"

"He can't," Charlie said. "We're not all together, and even if he catches up with us, what can he do?"

"I don't know, but I don't want to find out," she said as she went over to a bench and sat down her hand covering her heart and her eyes momentarily closing. "Charlie, we have to stay away from that guy."

"I know," he said and looked at her, his gaze intent. "That means we can't go back to the factory, he may be there and waiting for us to come back. I don't want to have another confrontation with him."

"What can we do, I mean; he must really want that recipe?" she whispered.

"I don't know, but I wish Grandpa Joe was here, he'd know what to do," Charlie said.

"I wish Mr. Wonka was," Violet mused as the two children drifted into their own separate contemplations. Eventually, the girl raised her head. "Do you think Slugworth might try to hurt us?" She asked weakly.

"I don't know," Charlie said as he turned back around and made sure that they were not being trailed. When he noticed that no one was behind them, he released a pent up breath and sat down next to her. "Do you know what I think?"

"What?"

"Slugworth must be thinking that we have the Gobstoppers with us and he decided to come after us to get them. The trouble is, he doesn't really know that I don't have mine anymore. What about you?"

"Mine got ruined by the blueberry gum," she said. "Mike's got shrunk and Veruca's got lost. None of us would be able to help him, but the truth remains that he doesn't know that. Do you think that Mr. Wonka knows that we're being followed by Slugworth?"

"How could he know? I mean, he and Slugworth are enemies, they wouldn't be sitting and taking tea together," Charlie said. "So, what did you do with your ruined Gobstopper anyway?"

"I threw it away in Mr. Wonka's office," she said. "Since he said that the formula was ruined, My dad wanted me to find you so that we could give the thing to Slugworth…"

"…No way, I may be hurt and angry with Mr. Wonka, but I'm not going to do anything to help his enemies," Charlie stood up, his annoyance evident. "Is that what you wanted when you went looking for me?"

"No," Violet shook her head adamantly. "I wanted to help so that Mr. Wonka would feel better. He didn't look all that good when I saw him and thought that this might help."

"You just wanted to help?" He asked.

"Why not? Charlie, I don't want to do something to hurt Willy Wonka after he helped me, it would be selfish and stupid. I knew all of that before he asked me to go and talk to you. When I got to your house, I saw the reporters and managed to slip away unseen. I only accidentally found you at the cemetery."

"How did you know where I live?" He asked.

"Mr. Wonka knew," she shrugged her shoulders. "He gave me the piece of paper with your address written on it right before I left his office."

"How did he know?" Charlie asked.

"No idea, he just gave it to me along with a map so that I could find it," she said. "I didn't mean to come across as a stalker or something, he just asked me to come find you and so I did."

Charlie looked around where they were sitting. "We can't sit out here waiting for Slugworth to show up," he said. "Maybe we should get out of sight. I mean; we still have to keep ourselves away from the press."

"Where should we go?" She asked. "I would say let's not go back to the hotel where we're staying, but my father would probably go bananas."

Charlie took a deep breath. "Maybe the only place we can go to is my house. Grandpa Joe knows what Slugworth looks like so he can keep him away from us. I just hope that my house isn't full of reporters anymore. Because it's Sunday, most of the shops are closed and I don't have any money, so they would probably accuse me of being a vagrant anyway."

"I've got money," Violet said. "Let's go find a deli, I haven't eaten lunch yet. Once we're done, we can head back to your house. Does that sound OK?"

"I guess it will have to be," Charlie said as Violet stood up and attached herself to his arm. "Are you OK? I mean; you can walk, right?"

"Yes, but…" her voice trailed off. "…Charlie, I'm scared."

"I know, me too," he said, but after several minutes, he looked at her. "Maybe by the time we get to my house the reporters will be gone and we can talk to my Grandpa Joe or my mother. Maybe they would know what to do."

Violet nodded. "Do you think they can help us?"

"I don't know anyone else who could," he said. "I know you wish that Mr. Wonka was here, but he's not, and the chances of him coming out of his factory to help us is probably not very likely. Come on, let's get going."

With a new determination, they started walking down the street in the direction of a nearby deli. Once they reached it, the two children went inside and Violet looked at him. "What do you recommend?"

"No idea, I've passed this place hundreds of times, but never went in," he admitted.

"Do you have a favorite?" She asked.

"Anything but cabbage is fine with me," Charlie said honestly.

Violet nodded and looked at the woman at the counter. "Two sandwiches please, one tuna and the other ham salad." She looked at Charlie. "What do you want to drink?"

"I don't know," he said. "Orange soda maybe."

Violet ordered two of them, paid and they waited for the woman to retrieve the two sandwiches. Once they had received the food, the two children retreated to the back of the deli and sat down at one of the tables. Once she was seated she handed a sandwich and cola to her friend.

"I can't pay you back," he said.

"Forget it, besides, my mother always said that it is rude to eat in front of other people who aren't eating, so lets just say that you're saving me from starving to death," she smiled at him. "You want to go halvsies?"

"Halvsies?"

"Yeah, you give me half of your sandwich and I give you half of mine, that way we can try both," she said. "My friend, Cornelia, and I do that a lot."

"You mentioned her in the interview," he said.

"Yeah, and she'll probably be mad because I've given up gum," she said smiling slightly. "She and I met in the first grade and we got along really well, but we were always competing for everything, not just gum chewing, but all kinds of stuff. She ate more candy bars than I did when the Golden Ticket contest was happening and was really mad when I found the ticket and she didn't."

"Did you stop chewing gum because of what happened yesterday?" He asked.

"Yeah," she said as she took a bite of her sandwich. Instead of elaborating, she swallowed the bite as she looked around the small Victorian deli. "You know, this is really nice."

"What, the deli?" Charlie asked as he took a sip of his drink.

"No, sitting here with you and talking about our friends and our lives," she said. "It's like we're friends."

"We are, aren't we?" He asked. "I mean; you did buy me a sandwich and you didn't have to. You know, it may seem strange for me to say, but you're a lot different than the person I met at the factory yesterday."

She smiled, but instead of commenting, she took another bite of her sandwich.

* * *

About ten minutes later, they finished the sandwiches, cleared off the table, and threw their garbage away before leaving the deli. "So, which way to your house?" She asked.

"It's not very far from the factory actually," he said as a news truck pulled up on the other side of the road. "Do you want to talk to reporters?" He asked.

"Not really," she said.

"Well, then we'd better get ready to run," he said as he spotted a man in a suit coming towards them, a second man was coming in the opposite direction. "We're trapped, Violet, there's no way to get past them."

"What are we going to do?" She asked.

"Maybe, we should just talk to them," he said. "If we do, then we will probably be off the hook and they can go and pester Mike and Veruca for a while."

Before she could respond, the reporter came even closer, his voice emerging and filling the area. As it did, passers by stopped and stared at them. "Those are two of the children from the Wonka Golden Ticket contest…" the words emerged and Violet looked at Charlie, fright evident in her face. Instead of running, the two of them remained where they were standing, and waited for the reporters to come closer.


	11. Chapter 10: Relating Events

_Author's Notes. First of all, I am really glad to see that more people are reading and reviewing this story and appreciate the constructive ideas and thoughts that were relayed to me about it._

_I wanted to touch only on a few things based on the comments before this story continues._

_The cause of Mr. Bucket's death, is unknown in the movie, but it is something that will be touched on later in this story. It is not as significant a detail, but still one that I will not leave a hole on. _

_As for the Clara / Wonka ship. I have decided to have that as a sort of subplot. Violet is the catalyst in everything, so the story, although sometimes going into a digression will have some elements of romance to it, all of which are going to be catalyzed by everybody's favorite blueberry girl._

_Yin / Yang was a Wonka line not a Violet line from an earlier chapter, so nothing is really beyond her scope of comprehension. I did mention this in a PM, but some people may be wondering about that, so I thought it was a good idea to mention that here so that people don't think I am ignoring the reviewers or the comments._

_Also, I grew up in the seventies, which is kind of good since this story sort of takes place at that time period. I am trying to keep it as timeless as I can, but children's lingo is rather hard to pin down so I'm trying to do as generically as I can. I used to say 'deli' quite often, in fact, café wasn't a common word where I grew up, so I axed using that word. Maybe I could have used 'sandwich shop' but that was definitely too wordy for kids of any time period. Eventually, I had to settle on something generic, and since deli was workable for me, I decided to go with it._

_Try and remember too that this story is not the Johnny Depp or Freddie Highmore characterizations, it's more or less Gene Wilder and Peter Ostrum (there's that name for you of the original Charlie actor) characterizations. The Violet characterization is not the newer actress (her name slips me now), but instead based on the portrayal by Denise Nickerson in the original film._

_With that said, enjoy, and please keep me posted on how this is shaping up._

_Thanks Ya Ya for catching that 'little' problem...it's been located and corrected, in three different places (oops). _

_Edited on February 5, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 10: Relating Events**

"Excuse me, Charlie, Violet, can we talk to you for a minute?" The reporter asked. "We've been trying to get an interview all day," he said, as the cameraman started rolling.

"I'm sorry, but I've been showing Violet around town today," Charlie said casually. "I really didn't expect anyone to trail my steps."

"We wanted to know how the tour went? We've already taken statements from Mike Teavee, and Veruca Salt, we've been trying to get some thoughts from you two. I think that perhaps you can understand when I tell you that each of their answers were rather contradictory. We figured that perhaps the two of you would be able to shed some light on things."

"I'm not sure if we can, since we have no idea what the others said," Charlie said.

"Did you talk to Augustus Gloop?" Violet asked.

"We thought about it, but since he doesn't speak very much English, I'm afraid it leaves the two of you to sort everything out," the man responded. "So, tell me, how was the tour?"

"It was a typical tour," Charlie said shrugging his shoulders. "Mr. Wonka showed us around the factory, and then we left."

"I was under the impression that it was more than just a typical anything," the reporter pressed. "Miss Salt told us about a large room with chocolate and candy in it. She said that there was a chocolate river that flowed straight through it."

"Yes, there was," Violet said. "It was such a beautiful and magical place." Her eyes took on a faraway look, but she continued to speak, all the while ignoring what had happened to Augustus. "I wanted to stay and explore every last inch of it."

"What other places did you see?" He asked.

Charlie looked at the man. "Some things should be kept to ourselves."

"Why is that?" He asked.

"Well, because, talking about them takes away the meaning," he said.

"Fair enough, so what was Mr. Wonka like?" The reporter asked.

Charlie and Violet exchanged looks. Eventually, Charlie spoke, his words vague. "He was an interesting person. He seemed very knowledgeable about his inventions and experiments. I guess I can tell you that he was also very secretive and it was probably because of all the times that others had stolen ideas from him. Sometimes when we would ask him questions, he would say that 'all questions had to be submitted in writing' or some other strange quotation. These questions simply went unanswered."

Violet nodded. "Yes, but aside from that, I actually thought he was very nice."

"You did?" The reporter asked skeptically. "Mr. Teavee had the impression that of all of you kids that went in, that you would be the one who hated him the most. He went on to say that you blew up like a blueberry and his workers had to roll you through a metal doorway. Do you want to tell us what happened with that, and how you ended up in such a state?"

"I'd rather not, and besides that, Mike's got a big mouth," she said. "It's nobody else's business but my own."

Charlie looked at the man and then at Violet. Seeing her growing increasingly uncomfortable, he reached over and touched her arm. "I'm sorry, but we have to get going." With that, he started to steer her away from the reporter.

"Wait," the man called out, his voice making the two children stop dead in their tracks. As soon as Charlie turned his head, he spoke. "What happened to you at Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, Charlie?"

He inhaled sharply and released the breath. "Nothing, we toured the factory and afterwards, we went home."

"Nothing strange happened?" The reporter pressed.

"No, nothing," he said, a trace of sadness in his words, but instead of speaking further, they managed to distance their way from the persistent reporter.

Once they had rounded a corner and were far enough away, Violet looked down at the ground. "They were just waiting for me to say something bad about Mr. Wonka, weren't they?"

"Yeah, that's the press around here, they are always looking for a way to hurt someone," he said. "Try not to worry about it, at least when you go home, you'll be far enough away from them."

"That's why I didn't want to talk to them," she said.

"I know, but maybe now they'll leave us alone for awhile," he said. "Come on, let's get back to the house, maybe it will be quiet there."

"Maybe," she mused. "Charlie, how can you find your way around here. With all these winding streets, I'm already lost and confused."

"I've lived here all my life and just learned my way around is all," he said.

"What do we do if the reporters are still at your house?"

"We'll just go back to the cemetery and see if we can figure out another option. Right now, I have no other ideas in mind," he said.

"Do you think that maybe I can call my dad from there?" She asked. "I have to make up some excuse if it gets dark and I'm not back in time."

"We don't have a phone, but we can make sure you get back before dark," he said. Once she nodded, they started to walk in the direction of the small house where he lived with his family.

* * *

By the time the two children had reached the Bucket house, Violet was a nervous wreck, and Charlie was helping to keep the worn out girl on her feet. "We're almost there," he managed to speak. 

As they passed through the tunnel where Charlie had first been confronted by Slugworth, he was pondering whether or not the man with the icy looking black colored eyes would be waiting for them. His heartbeat started to race at the thought, but he kept his arm around his new friend and helped to lead her onward.

By the time they had reached his home, Charlie's gaze began to take in the patch of land in front of their house. By some miracle the reporters that had been present that morning had dispersed and gone their own way. This, alone, was cause for relief. "At least they're gone," he said as he opened the door and the two children came into the main room.

"Mom," he called out as he threw the door closed behind them as Clara turned around. When she saw Violet she rushed over to them and put her arm around the girl's shoulder.

"What on earth happened to you?" She spoke as she pulled the girl out of Charlie's arms and helped her to sit down at the table. "Charlie, what's going on?"

"Mom, Violet and I went back to the factory today, and…" his voice trailed off.

Clara smiled reassuringly at her son. "It's alright. Violet, I don't have much to offer, but I can at least make a tea or give you a glass of water."

The girl took a deep breath. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine to me, you look terrified," she said. "What happened?"

"I ran into Violet at Dad's grave, and she said that Mr. Wonka wanted to see me, so we went back to the factory. Instead of seeing Mr. Wonka though, we saw Mr. Slugworth again," Charlie said. "You remember I mentioned to Grandpa that that he had confronted me right after I found the Golden Ticket."

"I seem to recall when Dad mentioned it," she said.

"We were all confronted, Mrs. Bucket," Violet said with a shudder. "H-he showed up at my father's car lot and offered me money if I brought him an Everlasting Gobstopper."

"I see, and where are your Everlasting Gobstoppers?" She asked gently.

"Mine got ruined," Violet said honestly. "Charlie gave his back after Mr. Wonka got mad at him."

Clara looked at Joe, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed and looking away from them. It was clear to her that Willy Wonka had, in fact, told her the truth. Her father had known what had happened to the piece of candy, but he had not said anything about to her the night before.

"You gave it back?" Clara asked. "Why did you do that, Charlie?"

"I don't know," the boy confessed. "It just seemed like the right thing to do, I guess."

"Mrs. Bucket," Violet said. "I don't mean to be rude, but it doesn't really matter because Mr. Slugworth doesn't know about what happened to the Everlasting Gobstoppers. He probably thinks we still have them and that's why he's trailing us."

Charlie nodded. "She's right, Mom, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"It's alright Charlie, I never expected you to do otherwise," she said. "The problem is, this house may be the very first place this Slugworth character might look. Charlie, we have to try and find a way to keep you and Violet away from him."

"And I have to go back to the hotel soon," she said.

"Where are you staying, dear?" Clara asked.

"London Astoria, it's in downtown," Violet said.

"I know of it, the laundry where I work does some business with that particular hotel," she said. "Perhaps in a little while, Charlie and my dad can bring you back to the hotel. I don't want to cause anyone to worry about you." She smiled gently at the girl.

Violet looked at Charlie. "What are we going to do about Slugworth?"

"I don't know," Charlie said. "Maybe you were right and we should try and get word to Mr. Wonka about this. Maybe he would know what to do."

"I'm not so sure," his grandfather grumbled. "It would seem to me that the only thing that that man seems concerned with are his secrets."

"I don't think that's it at all," Violet said, her voice cracking. "He was nice when I talked to him. Besides, what else can we do? I'm scared to go outside and I have this feeling that when we do, Mr. Slugworth is going to jump out at us."

Charlie looked at his mother. "She's right, he does tend to do that. At least he did that when I was coming home after finding the Golden Ticket."

Clara rested her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Try not to worry, Violet, we're going to do whatever we can to insure that you stay safe."

The girl nodded as Charlie got to his feet. "Mom, she's not the only one who is a bit nervous."

"I know, but do keep in mind Charlie, there are other children who were on that tour and they got this candy too, and I would be willing to bet that if Mr. Slugworth is wanting to get his hands on that candy, he probably would not just go after the two of you. Of course, if the other children were here, then his job would be easier," Clara said. "We have to get you to someplace safe. Perhaps being with Charlie would prove the most unsafe place of all."

"What do you mean, Mom?" Charlie asked.

"Well, think about this, of all the children who received this candy, who is the most likely candidate to betray Mr. Wonka?" She asked.

"Veruca," Violet said with distaste.

"No, Charlie is," she said.

"Clara, how on earth did you come up with that logic?" Joe asked. "It's scrambled."

"Not necessarily, Dad," she said and looked at her son with pride in her eyes. "Charlie, what happened the day you got your first payday?"

"I delivered my papers and came home," he said.

"Yes, and you brought a loaf of bread for all of us to share," she said.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Joe asked. "It just shows that Charlie would do anything he could to help his family."

"Yes, anything, perhaps even betray Mr. Wonka," she said matter-of-factly. When she saw the horrified expression cross her son's face, she continued. "Charlie, we know you wouldn't do it, but you are the kind of person who would consider it if you knew that it helped us."

"You and Dad…you taught me better," Charlie said.

"I know that, you know that, and your grandfather knows that, but Mr. Slugworth doesn't. He will do whatever he can to encourage or persuade you to go against the principles that you embrace. He will more than likely go after you because he knows that you love your family and that is something that he will try to exploit."

Violet listened to her words and lowered her head. She did not speak of this, but she wished that her father would talk to her in the way Clara was now speaking to Charlie. As she listened to this exchange, there was a part of her that wanted nothing more than to run out of the house and never come back.

That overtly torn expression that lined the girl's face did not go unnoticed by Clara. Instead of continuing to speak, she went over and wrapped her arms gently around her. "Are you alright?"

Violet nodded, but after several seconds, she shook her head and used the back of her hand to wipe the tears away.

Charlie stared across the table at the girl. "Maybe through all of this your dad will come to understand how you feel."

Violet shook her head. "I don't think so."

"It could happen," Joe said optimistically. "Sometimes people have experiences that change them, and make them better and more positive."

"You don't know my dad," she whispered.

"Not so well, but we do know you," Charlie said.

Clara kept a comforting arm around the girl's shoulder. "We can't change your father, sweetheart, we can be your friends and help you through all of this, but that's all we can do."

Violet nodded. "That's what Mr. Wonka did."

Charlie looked at her. "Maybe that's why you've been trying to get me to talk to him all along. Maybe he is nice. But, as long as Slugworth is hanging around there, how can I even try to talk to him?"

"Let's take one thing at a time," Clara said wisely. "First, we have to get Violet back to the hotel, then we can talk about you going back to the factory and trying to resolve this thing with Mr. Wonka." She smiled.

Charlie looked at Violet and gave the girl an encouraging smile.

"Can we still see each other before I go home?" She asked.

"Sure," Charlie said. "But, I still have to go to school and do my paper route, so there won't be much time left until the weekend."

Violet nodded, but after that conversation ended, she left the house with Charlie and his grandfather.


	12. Chapter 11: A Bird's Eye View

_Hi everyone, thanks for reading and thanks to YaYa and Nina Windia for taking the time to review the story. I enjoy your comments and hope that this latest installment will be enjoyable to you._

_To answer the question YaYa raised, Mrs. Bucket never had a first name in the film, I just gave her one because she was a minor character that I really liked. Not only that, but she had a positively stunning singing voice. I also picked the name Clara because like you said, she looked rather like a Clara._

_I also gave Wilkenson a first name, Thomas, which because of my other story, I opted to use, although nothing was really said about it and I am using their last names to describe them or their actions here. Why that is, I don't know._

_Please read and review._

_Edited February 6, 2008 (If you are following this, I am going through this story and ironing out the finite details of it to make it better.)_

* * *

**Chapter 11: A Bird's Eye View**

At the very same instant the children had run away from him, Thomas Wilkenson watched as they disappeared around a corner, his dark eyes following their movements. It became more than clear to him that it had been a mistake for him to come out and try and approach them.

Swearing softly under his breath, he looked around where he was standing and contemplated what he was going to do. The children were no doubt faster than he was, and even if he were to try to catch up with them, his actions would be rather conspicuous to passersby. At this point, he was well aware that his boss had insisted that he try to be as unobtrusive as humanly possible.

He turned around at that moment and started walking in the opposite direction that Charlie and Violet had gone in. He refused to trail them, but at the same instance, he was left to ponder what exactly he was supposed to do.

It was clear as crystal what had happened, Willy Wonka had seen the mirrored reflection of light from within the confines of the factory and immediately recognized the two children. As a result of this, the chocolatier had asked him to go and greet them on his behalf. Of course, he was well aware that he had been sent by Wonka, but neither Violet nor Charlie knew of this arrangement and they had run away from him because of their earlier confrontations with him. Perhaps they were expecting Wonka himself to come out and let them in, but that was not safe with all of the reporters who were hanging about.

Instead of contemplating this further, Wilkenson managed to make his way back inside the confines of the factory, his eyes staring straight ahead. After several minutes, he reached the hall that led to the chocolatier's office.

As he reached the door, he took a deep breath as he ran his hand down over his clothes. He had argued against this idea, all the while saying that his appearance would scare them, but Wonka had told him that if he had explained what was going on, then the children would have come. Unfortunately for the chocolatier, he had no idea how scary Wilkenson had behaved during those moments when he had pretended to be Arthur Slugworth. His performance was a direct indication that the two children were terrified. Chances are, they probably assumed that he was after them for the Everlasting Gobstoppers. Unbeknownst to both children, Wilkenson already knew that neither of them had the candy in their possession.

At this present moment, he was uncertain as to how to relate this bit of information to the candy maker. After all, Wonka really needed to know about what had happened when he had approached the kids.

His heart was, by this time, hammering loudly in his chest, but as he reached the door, he took a deep breath, raised his hand, and firmly knocked. As the hollow sounds engulfed the hallway, he simply waited.

When his knock was finally answered, he could see the surprise that was etched in Wonka's blue eyes. The children were not there, and upon recognizing that, his overt surprise shadowed its way across his face. "Where are the children?" He immediately asked, almost anticipating what the answer was going to be.

"They saw me, got scared, and ran away," Wilkenson responded.

"In other words, you put the fear of God into them," Wonka said, all the while rubbing his chin.

"I didn't even get a chance to tell them who I was and that they had no reason to be afraid of me," he said. "They simply ran away, and for what it's worth, Charlie Bucket can really run. I saw him the day I confronted him, but I had no idea that he could run as well as he does. Even with adrenaline, Violet was doing well to keep up with him."

"Where did they go?" Wonka asked.

"No idea, in fact, they ran away from the factory as though they were being chased by a horde of ghouls," Wilkenson said, all the while shaking his head. "What are you going to do?"

"Probably what I should have done when this whole thing started," he said. He stood up and started to walk towards the two sliding glass doors located several meters from his writing desk.

"You don't mean, 'Up and Out'," Wilkenson said with a shake of his head.

Wonka simply nodded. "I will take it to the Buckets house and see if I can find out what has happened to the children."

"That's a crazy idea and you know it," the dark headed man said. "It's not even dark yet, the press will surely find you."

"Then I'll wait until it is dark," he said simply. "I have no intention of keeping these children on edge. You said it yourself, they are both terrified. It would be wrong of me to leave them in suspense too much longer. I will take the Wonkavator tonight, use the 'Up and Out' function and try to find them. Maybe Clara can help me."

"Clara, who's Clara?" Wilkenson asked.

"Clara is Charlie's mother, I met her last night while I was out taking a stroll," Wonka said matter-of-factly.

"You left the factory?" Wilkenson asked skeptically.

"Mr. Wilkenson, I didn't know I was supposed to ask your permission to do so, but to answer your question, yes I did," he responded somewhat smugly. "While I was outside, who should I run into but Charlie's mother? She's a delightful lady, unassuming and very kind-hearted. It is really no wonder where Charlie gets those sorts of qualities from. At any rate, we spoke for a time and I helped her get home."

"Which explains how you got the boy's address so quickly," Wilkenson said as he looked at Wonka. "Sir, if I didn't know better, I would say that you are a bit taken by this lady. But, how was she around you?"

"Quite nice, if you must know. Of course, this has nothing really to do with my finding the two children," Wonka said. "Because you scared them beyond recognition, the person who must go and find them, is me. If they continue to think that Slugworth is still chasing after them, then I may end up losing Charlie all together. I have to let them know what really happened and that all of this was a test."

"That does not help, Sir, if the press sees you flying about in the Wonkavator, it will not react in a restrained manner. I am wont to say that they will try and find a way of making this into a scandal. You know how they are and to do something like you're proposing would be insane beyond recognition."

"I was never accused of being normal," the chocolatier said grimly. "But, it is more than abundantly clear that I have to do something. Please understand that I cannot sit idly here and wait for them to come back. They may be too afraid to even try that. As you know, it would be impossible for me to go out during daylight hours without being seen or bombarded. This is the only way I can think of to contact the children, and if they are as frightened as you seem to indicate, then it would be wrong of me to not do anything."

"Are you sure this is what you really want to do?" Wilkenson asked. "The 'Up and Out' function has yet to be tested."

"I know," Wonka replied. "I had intended on letting Charlie press that button, but since he is not here, then I'll have to improvise."

Thomas Wilkenson nodded. He had never argued with his boss before and was not about to start now. Of course, he was concerned and perhaps had good reason to be, but to Willy Wonka's way of thinking, this concern was misdirected. They needed to make sure the two children were safe, and if they were not, then it was more than abundantly clear that the chocolatier believed himself to be the reason for it.

* * *

Once Wilkenson had left his office, Wonka took a deep breath and pressed the button to his prized invention. He would use it to go to his quarters first and get some things he would need for an impromptu visit to the Bucket house.

It was no secret that he wanted to give the family money so that they would have more to eat, but fearing that Clara would construe it as charity; he opted to simply bringing the family several candy bars.

Even if Charlie was not yet aware of this, the chocolatier was still rather insistent on giving him the promised chocolate that had been reported about in the news when the Golden Ticket contest started. After all, the boy had earned it, even if he did not believe it at that moment.

He packed the candy bars in the recesses of his pockets and retrieved another cloak, this one matching the purple jacket he had worn for the tour. A final glance outside his window affirmed to him that he could now leave the factory. Dusk had fallen on London, which made his departure all the more easy.

He pulled on the cloak and made his way towards the waiting Wonkavator. This was the only option available to him. Although he was a bit nervous about making an impromptu appearance at the house, his priority was to find the two children. Any other worries or concerns were petty in comparison. Even the hole that the Wonkavator would ultimately cause to his roof had become inconsequential.

Climbing in, he deposited his cane, reached up, and pressed the tiny button that was surrounded by the red colored plastic.

As the Wonkavator started to move, the chocolatier took a deep breath. It should have been another way, he thought sadly. It should have been that I could take Charlie 'up and out' and tell him that I intended on inheriting the entire factory to him. Now I'm sitting here alone and looking all over town for him and Violet. If there was such a thing as cruel irony, then this would have been it. He took a deep and staggering breath, this time unable to really enjoy what was going on around him. As the Great Glass Wonkavator crashed through the glass roof, he could suddenly see the lights of the town below.

With a series of pushing buttons, he managed to navigate the large gem shaped object in the direction of the Bucket house. It took less than ten minutes for him to find a field not too far away from the small house and land it near a group of trees.

He retrieved his cane, climbed out, and took a deep breath. Just before he walked away, he took one last glance towards it and noticed that it was somewhat concealed by the trees' golden leaves. Everything seemed to be alright with it, so he distanced himself from the unusual object.

It was no secret, he was somewhat unnerved about what he was about to do, but swallowing that fear, he continued to make his way towards the house. He had no idea what he would say, but was hopeful that Clara would be the one to open the door and not Charlie's Grandpa Joe.

He took a deep breath and knocked, the hollowness of his actions somehow matching the strange sensations that dwelled in the pit of his stomach.


	13. Chapter 12: An Extended Wait

_Please let me know what you think. _

_I really appreciate the reviews I have received thus far, and I hope that you will keep me posted on what you think of this idea. I had a lot of fun writing this story and am grateful to YaYa and Nina Windia for keeping me posted on what you think. This latest chapter is for the two of you with my thanks!_

_Edited February 6, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 12: An Extended Wait**

The door slowly opened and he found himself looking into Clara Bucket's blue eyes.

"Willy, w-what are you doing here?" She asked.

The chocolatier took a deep breath. "Clara, where's Charlie?"

"He and Violet showed up here about two hours ago, but they left with my dad about ten minutes ago," she said.

"Where did they go?" He asked.

"They were taking her back to the hotel," she said. "Violet said that she needed to get back and we figured that it was best that she not go alone. Dad went with them so that he could explain to Mr. Beauregarde why Violet was late." As she spoke she reached out and touched his upper arm. "You look so pale, maybe you should come inside."

He nodded and allowed her to gently pull him into the small house. As he came into the dismal looking dwelling, he became even more horrified at what he saw. Three old people were sleeping in the bed situated in the middle of the room. The house was even smaller than his office at the factory. Although he could not elaborate why, this single room hovel seemed to carry an uncanny emptiness about it.

"Do you mind if I sit down?" He asked trying to hide the overwhelming shock at seeing the destitute manner in which this remarkable family was subjected to living in.

"Not at all," she said graciously, but pulled out a chair.

The chocolatier seated himself at the table, his elbows resting against it. After several minutes had passed, he remembered the candy bars and slowly retrieved them from the depths of his pockets. "Clara, I brought these for your family."

She cast a glance down at the objects that now rested on the table as her face lit up. "That was very kind of you."

"It's nothing," he said with a casual wave of his hand.

"Yes it is," she said, but in the dim light, she could see that the chocolatier was not doing well, his face looked pale and his entire stance seemed to lack in energy. "Willy, what happened to you? You don't look well at all. Shall I make you a cup of tea?"

He nodded. "That might help, actually."

"You got caught out in the rain last night, didn't you?" She asked as she went over to the stove, set the kettle on, and turned on the heat. As she finished, she turned back around and faced him. "I noticed that it was raining rather heavily as I was crawling into bed last night. Perhaps you should have stayed, it might have helped to prevent you from getting sick."

Without thinking about what she was doing, she went over to him and pressed her wrist against his forehead. When she felt the heat that emanated from him, she took a deep breath. "You're burning up," she whispered, but fished in her pocket for a clean handkerchief. Without another word, she pressed it into his hand.

"I'll be fine," he said weakly but accepted the offered piece of cloth. "The tea should help immensely."

Clara nodded but when she turned around again, she noticed that the chocolatier was wiping his nose with the cloth. She hoped that he would not be taking ill as she did not have very much space to accommodate him.

Several minutes after the water had started to boil, Clara poured some into a mug, and allowed the tea to stand for several minutes before returning to the table and placing it in front of him. Eventually, he picked it up and took a sip, the bitter tasting fluid filling his mouth.

"Do you have any sugar?" He asked as he swallowed, all the while, trying maintain a straight face.

"I only have honey," she said honestly. "But it does help when you have a sore throat. That's why my mother would use it whenever I got sick."

"The hot milk," the chocolatier mused, but nodded and watched as she opened a small pantry and pulled a tiny jar out. She removed the lid, grabbed a spoon, and placed both objects on the table. She watched as he carefully stuck the spoon inside and pulled out some of the gooey substance. As he was stirring it into his tea, she looked at him.

"Willy, how did you get here?" She asked. "There are reporters swarming the city."

"I know, I saw them, but I managed alright," he said with a secret smile. He picked up the cup and took another slow sip, this time the sweetness of the honey contrasting the bitter taste from before. "Mr. Wilkenson was apparently right, leaving the factory was rather foolish of me, but I had to in the wake of what happened this afternoon."

She sat down on the other side of the table and reached over and touched his hand as it rested on the table. "I know that you want to see Charlie, but why take so many risks to do it?" She asked. "It's obvious that you're not doing very well." She kept her hand covering his for several minutes, but after she moved it away, she watched as he rested his head in both of his, the flat palms now brushing through his unruly hair.

"I had to come, Clara," he managed to speak as he raised his head and looked at her. His blue eyes were imploring her to understand, but it was clear that she could not.

"Just tell me what happened," she said.

"Violet came to find Charlie after she and her father had left the factory. She did it because I had asked her to," he began. "I gave her your address, and I can only surmise that once she had found him, she was able to convince him to come back to the factory. Oh Clara, I had no idea that she was going to be able to convince him, but they were there, and if I had known what was going to happen, I would have come outside myself to meet them."

"It's understandable that you didn't, Willy. You were frightened, and perhaps for very good reason," she said gently. When he nodded his head, thus confirming her assertion, she continued speaking. "No one can fault you for that. After all, even the strongest person can get scared. So the children were at the gate, and you obviously saw them?"

"Yes, but I have to tell you about Thomas Wilkenson," he began. "He works for me, but he looks just like Arthur Slugworth."

"So, the children are at the gate, and your friend Wilkenson approaches them and they think he's Slugworth, correct?" She asked.

He nodded. "Mr. Wilkenson told me before going outside that the children would think that he's Slugworth, and that they might run away from him. I didn't believe him, I thought that if he got a chance to explain, that they would come back with him, but they didn't, instead, they got scared and ran away."

"Charlie said that Slugworth confronted him on the way home after he found the Golden Ticket," she said. "I somehow am under the impression that it wasn't Slugworth that Charlie met, it was your friend, Wilkenson. He was part of that test." She smiled sadly.

Wonka nodded.

"You know, Willy, you really have a way of unintentionally weaving a great many complications into things," she said somewhat exasperated. "Those two kids were terrified when they got here earlier today. Poor Violet, I thought she was going to burst into tears at any given moment."

"It wasn't intentional, Clara," he said wearily.

"I don't blame you," she said.

"I do," he said, his voice carrying a soft, almost defeated undertone.

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself," she said gently.

"I'm trying not to, but I realize that I should have gone to meet the children myself…" He whispered, his voice trailing off.

"…And then what? Get mobbed by the press," Clara said shaking her head. "Willy, the city has been insane since yesterday morning, it's not safe for you. Why else do you suppose I asked you what you were doing here? This morning when I woke up, I looked out the front window and all I saw were people standing around. I had no idea how they even knew our address, yet there they were. Dad and I woke Charlie and helped him climb out the back window. I suppose I realized at that moment that it is simply not safe for you, Charlie or even Violet out there. Everyone's gone completely mad."

Wonka took a sip of his tea. "You're worried about me, and yet this whole mess happened because I got angry."

"'He who angers you conquers you.'" She smiled gently at him.

Wonka looked at her. "Elizabeth Kenny said that."

She nodded. "Yes, I was thinking about that quote last night when I was getting ready for bed. Dad's sister used to tell me all these quotations when she was alive. After she died I went to the library and tried to find out who the person was who originally said them. Some of them were quite useless, but some of them made a lot of sense. Do you know what my favorite quotation has always been?"

"What?" He asked.

"It's from a poem that Arthur O'Shaughnessy wrote. 'We are the music makers…'"

"'…And we are the dreamers of dreams," he finished for her, a small smile crossing his face as he looked across the table at her.

"You know it?" She asked.

"It's one of my favorites as well," he said. "Strange, is it not?"

Nodding, she glanced towards his cup. "Would you like some more tea?"

"Thank you," he said. "Clara, perhaps when everything gets settled we might speak or take tea again. Would you ever consent to that?"

She flushed somewhat. Was Willy Wonka asking her for a date or was he just being nice to her because she was Charlie's mother? Not really certain about what to say, she simply nodded and turned to retrieve the teapot and refill his cup. The prospect, although a tiny bit overwhelming, carried some appeal to her. As she poured the liquid into the cup, she found herself nervously trying to respond. "I-I think I would like that," she managed to speak, her voice feeling as though it had emerged an octave higher than normal.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"Yes, of course," she managed to speak, but after several seconds, she tried to find some sort of diversion tactic. "You know, they should be back by now. Forgive me for making a big fuss, but I'm starting to get worried."

"Do you know where Violet and her father are staying?" He asked.

"Yes, she said the London Astoria. It's a fancy hotel in downtown, but it shouldn't take them so long to get there and back," Clara said.

"Maybe they got held up by Mr. Beauregarde," Wonka said. "Maybe he wanted to sell your father a car."

"I don't know," she lowered her head. "Willy, I have this sinking feeling that something's wrong."

"Well, then maybe we should go out and look for them," he said.

"But what if they come back?" She asked. "The others are asleep."

Wonka took a deep breath. "Then I'll go look for them. You can stay here and since I know the way, it should not be any problem."

"Maybe I should go instead," she began as she went over to retrieve her shawl. "They are my responsibility after all, and besides, you're still sick."

"It's just a little headache," he said shrugging it off. "I should be fine, Clara, try not to worry about me. I can take care of myself."

"But…" her voice trailed off as he stood up.

Instead of immediately speaking, he walked over to her and rested his hands on her shoulders. "…I know you're afraid for Charlie, me, Violet, your father, and probably others as well, but you don't have to be. I made a terrible mess of things, but I have to try and do this in my own way," he said softly and waited for her to offer a hesitant nod.

"I'm a mother, I worry," she offered weakly, the feeing of his touch to her shoulders making her wish that she could embrace him, but knowing that it would not happen. Instead of speaking further, she bit down on her lower lip, the concern evident in her eyes.

"Everything will be fine," he said, but it was unclear if he was saying that for his sake or for hers.

"How can you be so sure?" She asked.

"I don't know, just call it a hunch," he said smiling, but before he could speak further, the door opened and Joe came into the room.

As the door swung closed behind the older man, both Wonka and Clara realized that he was alone and Charlie was nowhere to be seen. Before Clara could even speak to her father and ask what had happened, Joe eyed the chocolatier with disdain.

"What in God's name are _you_ doing here?" He asked before anyone could so much as utter a sound.

Without waiting for Wonka to even address Joe's question, Clara raised her head and looked at her father. "Dad, where's Charlie?" As these words emerged, she backed several steps away from the candy maker, her face lined with concern instead of overt discomfort.

"We got separated on our way back from the hotel. The reporters were as thick as fleas, Clara," Joe said, but looked at Wonka. "Now tell me what you're doing here. Your last words to us were pointedly clear."

Wonka said nothing, instead he backed his way towards the front door, and quickly left the house.

* * *

As soon as the chocolatier was gone, Joe stared after him, but eventually looked at his daughter. "Would you be so kind as to tell me what you are doing hanging around Willy Wonka?"

Clara looked at her father. "We met last night, Dad. I had gone out for a walk and for whatever reason, I found myself at the front gate of the factory and staring into the courtyard. While I was standing there, he approached me and we started talking. I didn't recognize him at first. He was dressed rather differently than he had been when you and Charlie went into the factory. After we started talking, he told me who he was and I started to notice how different he was from the person you had described. He said that he wanted to find Charlie and explain some things to him."

"What things?" Joe asked.

"I don't know, he didn't say," she said.

"I can only imagine that he wanted to yell at the boy again." He paused, but after several minutes had passed, he took a deep breath and looked at his daughter. "Clara, Charlie's already been through enough of that. He doesn't need anymore and right now with Slugworth on his tail…"

"…It's not Slugworth, Dad," Clara interrupted her father's flow of words. "This whole thing was a misunderstanding. This man that you, Violet, and Charlie think is Slugworth is not him at all. His name is Thomas Wilkenson, and he works for Willy…I-I mean, Mr. Wonka. He didn't go into details about any of this, but he said it was part of a test. Anyway, he came here tonight because he was worried about Charlie and Violet just like we are. I guess this Wilkenson fellow told him about what happened at the factory earlier today and he risked everything to come here and let the children know that they had nothing to be afraid of. He didn't have to do that, but he did."

"It's a test," Joe said bitterly. "I don't believe this."

"I know it seems strange, and I don't really know all the reasons why Mr. Wonka did this. I probably won't ever know, but one thing is clear, Willy Wonka is not our enemy, Dad, he just didn't know Charlie the way we do. It was the only way that he could really find out what kind of child he is," Clara said.

"And that's what he told you?" Joe asked.

"Yes, he said that he had to learn about Charlie's honesty and kindness in this way. Dad, you always taught me to be fair with people, to give them the benefit of the doubt. Don't you think that maybe we should be giving Willy Wonka the same sort of consideration? The poor man is sick…"

"…You can say that again," he muttered.

"No, Dad, I don't mean mentally, I mean he caught a cold last night when we were walking. After he brought me home, he walked back to the factory in the rain, and that must have given him a cold. Now he's gone again and I'm guessing that he's going to try and find Charlie on his own."

"He'll get mobbed," Joe said. "Everyone's so caught up with Wonkamania that if they even suspect someone is Willy Wonka, they'll tear them apart first and ask questions later."

Clara nodded. "That's what I mean. Dad, we have to help him."

"How can we? I have no idea where he raced off to," he said.

"But, I do," She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and the two of them left the house. "Do you think the others will be OK?"

"They're sleeping, what could possibly happen?" Joe asked. "Come on, let's get going, maybe he won't be too far ahead of us."

With that, the two of them stepped outside and closed the door.


	14. Chapter 13: Charlie's Saving Grace

_Author's Note: This is a little shorter than the last installment, but given that I am working on two Wonka stories at once, I am hopeful that you'll forgive me for that chapter shortness._

_Thanks to YaYa and Nina Windia for the reviews. It is encouraging that these two kind people are reading and reviewing. I wish more people would, but I will not push the issue. Here's hoping that you enjoy. I probably won't get to another chapter of this until after the coming weekend._

_Enjoy._

_Edited on February 7, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 13: Charlie's Saving Grace**

By this time Charlie was lost. He seemed to have been walking in circles and had found himself in a part of town that was, for a child, not the world's safest. Not only had he lost track of his grandfather, but now he was trying to decipher which way he could go to get out of this navigational crisis he had found himself in. Thankfully Violet was safe back at the hotel with her father. Charlie was well aware that if she had actually been there, the girl's panic instincts would have made the situation far worse than it already was.

In the distance he could see some of the city's homeless standing around in front of smoldering fires inside of garbage cans. Charlie knew that they were using this tactic as a means to keep warm, but the scene still left a very unsympathetic impression on the twelve-year-old boy.

Those stupid reporters, he internally grumbled. If they had not tried to literally mug him and his grandfather as they were coming out of the hotel, then they would probably have been able to get back home without getting separated.

This was anything but fun, and Charlie instinctively felt it necessary to keep his head down so as to not draw unnecessary attention to himself. The last thing he really needed was to have someone recognize him as the boy who had found the last Wonka Golden Ticket.

If the people in this area knew of the reports about a lifetime supply of chocolate, then they would not hesitate to mug him first and ask questions later. Charlie did not like this situation at all and the last thing he wanted was to become another London statistic for Scotland Yard.

Of course, his being lost did not help matters in the slightest. He was accustomed to walking around after dark, but that was in familiar territory and not in a place where uneasiness engulfed him.

Suddenly, his fears were realized when he heard the sounds of an intoxicated man at the other end of the street. "Hey Lad, ye lost?" The words made him raise his head only a fraction, all the while pondering if the man was even addressing him. He was not certain as to why he was even doing this, but he started to walk towards where the voice had emerged. He hoped that the stranger would help him to find his way back to a familiar segment of town.

"I got a little turned around," Charlie managed to speak. "Could you direct me back to the middle of town?" As he spoke, he dug his foot against the ground, his breathing slow and steady.

It was starting to get colder and his thin jacket and sweater were not adequate at combating the cool autumn wind. Instead of verbalizing this, he buried his hands into the depths of his jacket pockets.

Seconds later, the man had reached him. He did not even have to raise his head to know that a pair of eyes were now staring down at him.

"Where'd you want to go?" The man asked, his voice slurred and Charlie felt himself starting to cringe at the scent that emerged from the man's breath. It seemed to be a blatant mixture of whiskey and nicotine.

"Piccadilly Circus," he said, his head still lowered and it was clear that he did not want to make eye contact.

What he did not expect was for the man to reach out and roughly take his face and force him to look up. He struggled against the hold, but could not wrench himself free. "Let me go, you're hurting me," he managed to speak all the while trying to back away. Instead of releasing him, the man tightened his hold, and Charlie flinched despite his not wanting to.

It was clear that the man was in the process of trying to figure out who Charlie was, and after several seconds, recognition washed over him and he broke into a toothy grin. It was the same grin that one would have if they happened to find a ten pound note on the street.

"Well blimey, if it ain't Charlie Bucket." As these words emerged, Charlie could make out a distinctive sounding cockney lilt.

Trying not to take too much notice of the man's strange dialect, Charlie once more tried to pull away from him, his lower jaw starting to throb from the rough hold the man had on him. In this state, neither the boy nor the man noticed a strangely shaped object floating some twenty meters overhead. Several seconds later, it landed in the neighboring street.

"What do you want?" Charlie managed to ask as the man released his jaw and wrapped a grimy arm around his shoulder and started to lead him further down the street and into an alleyway.

Charlie knew that this vagabond was not about to release his hold, but that still did not stop him from struggling.

"Oh, all I want is just a little chocolate for a friend," the man slurred. "You have a lifetime supply, you'll never even miss it."

Swallowing the apprehension that filled him, Charlie took a deep breath. "I don't even know you. Why would I want to give you anything?" It was painfully clear that the boy was not about to confess his mistakes to this man. Right now, he was merely trying to buy himself some more time.

"Oh but you will," the man said. "I'm a real nice guy once you get to know me better. I'm Bernie and I just love candy."

Charlie squirmed. From the way the man was talking, it sounded like he liked something more than just candy. In fact, if he did not know any better, the man would have simply used the chocolate in question to barter himself a bottle of booze.

As they reached the end of the street, Charlie discovered that the man, because of his somewhat intoxicated state, had loosened his hold on his shoulder enough so that he could wrench himself free. The second he managed, Charlie took off down the street as fast as his legs would carry him.

"Hey you brat, come back here…" Bernie's voice suddenly filled the air, but Charlie did not heed these commands. Instead, he kept running until the man's angry words had faded in the distance.

The boy did not stop running until he rounded a corner and ran smack dab into someone else who was coming in the opposite direction. He gasped when he felt the suede fabric of the person's dark woolen cloak.

Instinctively, he thought that it was Bernie, or at the very least, one of his friends who had somehow managed to cut him off.

"S-sorry," he managed to mumble as he tried to back away. What happened next made the boy's adrenaline rush turn into full-fledged panic.

The figure who stood before him said nothing but reached out and captured both of his arms up near the shoulders. The hold that was exerted was not hard or painful as was the case with Bernie, but it was still forceful enough that he could not free himself.

"Let go," he cried out as he continued to struggle, his eyes clamping shut as frightened tears streamed down over his face.

After several moments had passed, his resistance died away when a familiar and unexpected voice suddenly filled his ears.

"Charlie, open your eyes," the man spoke, his hands still not relinquishing their hold. "It's alright, you're safe now."

Slowly, Charlie raised his head, his eyes widening when they focused on the man who now stood before him. Instead of immediately speaking, his adrenaline abruptly gave out and he collapsed into the arms of the man, his voice cracking as he spoke the man's name, his words muffled. "Mr. Wonka?"

"Yes," came the affirmative response. Instead of backing away from the boy, as he felt inclined to do, he raised his hands and embraced the child. "It's alright, Charlie."

"It was so scary…" he managed to speak.

"But you're alright now," Wonka said. "Aren't you?"

"I-I think so," the boy stuttered as he backed out of the chocolatier's hold and turned around and looked back in the direction he had come.

Wonka could instinctively tell that the child was terrified, he would have been as well had he found himself in a similar situation. "Thank goodness I managed to find you," he said, his voice calm contrary to what his emotions were telling him. "I saw what that man was trying to do to you and I wanted to get to you as quickly as I could."

"How?" He whispered.

"The 'how's' and 'why's' are not as important as the fact that you're safe," he said, his eyes closing momentarily. "Come on, let's get you home."


	15. Chapter 14: An Overdue Conversation

_Welcome to the next chapter of this. I figured that since it may be a time before I can get the next updates done, I wanted to go ahead and get this up. I am hoping to get the entire story up before the Christmas holidays start so that I can present a Christmas story. I will have to see if this works as I had hoped. If not, then there's always next year._

_Oh well, thanks to YaYa and KansReader for the wonderful reviews. I am so glad you both like the story. I hope that the rest of you had an enjoyable holiday (if it is celebrated where you are)._

_Take care, and enjoy. Let me know what you think. I am quite fond of this chapter myself, but that's just me._

_Edited on February 7, 2008_

* * *

**Chapter 14: An Overdue Conversation**

As they started to walk, Charlie raised his head and looked at the candy maker. "W-what are you doing out here?" He eventually asked, his voice still trembling from the confrontation that he had had with Bernie.

"I should be asking you the very same question. How in the world did you end up in this seedy part of town?" The chocolatier asked.

Charlie sighed, another of his questions would go unanswered. Instead of saying anything about it, he took a deep breath. "After we dropped Violet off at the hotel, Grandpa Joe and I were mobbed by reporters…" The words trailed and without contemplating this further, he shuddered. "…W-what happened to Grandpa Joe?"

"He's fine, he showed up at your house just before I came out looking for you," he said. "Charlie, there are a lot of things that we need to talk about, much of which I need to explain, but we can't do that here."

Charlie nodded numbly, but allowed the chocolatier to lead him down the street. After several minutes, he looked up, his voice emerging. "I-I wanted to apologize to you." As these words emerged, Wonka could tell that they were laced with regret.

By this time they had reached the glass enclosure that the chocolatier had used as transportation. Reaching out, Wonka opened the door but spoke, his words filled with an unusual air of kindness. "That's not necessary." Holding it open, he waited for Charlie to climb in, but the boy hesitated.

"W-what is that thing?" He asked.

"This is the Great Glass Wonkavator," he said. "It's completely safe, climb on in, we can discuss everything once we get out of here."

Charlie did as the chocolatier said and once the door was closed and secured, he watched as Wonka sat down on the makeshift stool and pressed a button.

Swallowing the fear that gripped him, Charlie could abruptly feel the chocolatier's invention lifting off the ground. Unconsciously, he grabbed the bar that was alongside one of the windows and swallowed, his eyes wide and filled with insecurity.

As the Wonkavator drifted through the air, the boy eventually opened his eyes and began to speak, his voice trembling. "I-I don't understand, h-how did you find me?"

"I looked," Wonka said simply, a slight smile breaking through. "I had some help from your mother, as well as from Violet Beauregarde, but finding you out there just now was quite unexpected."

"My mother helped you?" Charlie looked at him strangely.

"I ran into her last night while she was out for a walk," he said.

Instead of speaking, Charlie simply nodded. That explained Clara's strange behavior earlier that morning. Still, the boy could not help but ponder the questions that ravaged his mind. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore, but instead of interrupting the candy maker, he remained silent as Wonka continued speaking.

"Your mother was worried about you and in her own way, she really let me know that under no uncertain terms, my getting angry with you was not right."

"Y-you mean, she yelled?" Charlie asked.

"No, I don't really think your mother is the kind of person who would yell," Wonka said honestly. "She told me that you were quite upset last night after you and your grandfather had returned from the factory. She said that you cried."

"Not really," Charlie mumbled unwillingly. He did want to own up to the chocolatier that Wonka's reaction towards him and his grandfather had destroyed him.

"What do you mean, 'not really'?" Wonka asked, his gaze now on the boy and his expression laced with overt confusion.

"I didn't cry in front of her," Charlie said. "I don't know how she could've thought that. I mean; I wanted to, because I felt ashamed."

"Ashamed?" Wonka repeated the word as though a question. When Charlie simply nodded, he inhaled sharply, but continued speaking, his words laced in honesty. "I figured that you would feel hurt or betrayed by my actions, but not ashamed."

Charlie shrugged his shoulders, but turned his head away from the chocolatier. He was not really certain as to what he should say next. He was afraid that his words would be judged or criticized, so he opted to saying nothing.

"Charlie?"

The boy turned his head, but nothing emerged. Instead, he waited for the chocolatier to continue speaking. When he eventually did, the boy's eyes widened.

"I did something that I regret," Wonka began. "I cannot change this even if I wished for it." He paused, his words literally hanging in the air. "I yelled at you, and I had no idea how much that alone must have affected you. I know that it enabled you to do the right thing, but at what cost?" As these words emerged, he reached into the pocket of his waistcoat, retrieved the Everlasting Gobstopper, and showed it to the boy. "You put this on my desk before you left the factory."

Charlie shrugged his shoulders, but said nothing.

"Why did you do it?" Wonka asked.

"I don't know," came his simple response.

"What was going through your mind when you did it?" Wonka pressed.

Charlie took a deep breath. He was not really certain if he wanted to talk about such personal things with a practical stranger. He raised his head and looked into the kind blue eyes of the man, all the while, not knowing what compelled him to begin speaking. "I was remembering when my father died."

"How old were you?" Wonka asked, his voice shadowed in both interest and concern.

"Eleven," he said, his voice softer than even he anticipated.

Wonka reached over and rested a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Charlie."

The boy nodded, as he watched the lights of the city literally swimming from the tears that burned beneath his eyelids. Stubbornly, he brushed his forearm over his eyes in an attempt to keep them at bay. "My father had pneumonia," he offered freely. "I was remembering when my mother came home and told me that he was gone. Grandpa George got angry and started yelling at her. He was saying that she didn't do enough for my dad, and that our family was going to starve."

"He said that?" Wonka asked. "And you were in the room."

Charlie nodded. "Grandpa George was scared, and mom told me later that that was the only way he knew how to handle being sad."

"You've not had an easy life, have you?" Wonka asked.

Charlie took a deep breath as he looked into the eyes of the candy maker, but shrugged his shoulders. "It's stupid for me to complain about it," he said, his voice cracking. Boys didn't cry, but yet he was very close to bursting into tears right there in front of the chocolatier.

"No, it's not stupid to dream of something bigger and greater than what you have been dealt," Wonka said. "Sometimes we all feel as though we are forced to live with this little thing called 'regret'."

"I already know about regret, Mr. Wonka," Charlie said, but turned away so that Wonka could not see his face. "That's all I really have left since you said I lost."

The candy maker's eyes widened. Charlie truly believed that he had lost everything and only for making a mistake that had already been rectified. "Do you know what I learned during the last few days?" Wonka finally asked.

"What?"

"I learned that sometimes in the wake of us being angry or upset with other people, that we are actually feeling those things about ourselves," Wonka said, his voice firm, but also controlled.

The boy nodded all the while thinking that these words had something to do with the issue involving the Fizzy Lifting Drinks. He closed his eyes, thus allowing tears to finally stream down over his cheeks. "I didn't mean to break the rules," he eventually said.

"Is that why you gave this back?" Wonka asked motioning towards the candy that he was still holding in his hand.

Charlie nodded. "I was scared to say anything. You and Grandpa Joe were both so angry and I knew that it was all my fault. Everything happened because of me and I just wanted to say was that I was sorry for letting you down."

Wonka took a deep breath, but reached over and touched the boy's now trembling shoulder. "I realized that after you left. The truth is, I understood," he said. "There were times during my own childhood when my father would yell. He didn't want me to become a chocolatier, he wanted something else for me and yet, I couldn't very well change myself even when he did yell." He smiled weakly. "You see, I do understand how you must have felt. Grownups shouldn't yell, especially in front of or at a child."

"But you were right to get mad," Charlie objected. "No matter what we say or do; we stole from you, and that was wrong. Mom always taught me to be honest and not to do the things that could get me into trouble."

"You were curious, no one can really fault you for that. Besides, do you know who you reminded me of at that moment when we were in my office?" Charlie shook his head, and seeing his confusion, Wonka smiled. "You reminded me of myself. Most people don't know this, but I used to get into all kinds of trouble when I was about your age. I was sent to the school director's office at least once a week."

"You were?" Charlie looked into the unfaltering eyes of Willy Wonka.

"Yes, but don't act so surprised." He smiled impishly. "I actually remember this one incident when I was about eleven. I had told one of the girls that there was a snake in the school's greenhouse. The poor girl was petrified of snakes. Of course, it had been a lie, and I remember afterwards standing in the director's office about to get fed the riot act. 'What sort of practical joker are you, William?' The man asked as he leaned over the desk with a leering expression on his face. I got really scared and thought that my days were numbered. Later, I found out why it was my actions had scared her so much, and I regretted what I had done."

"That was mean," Charlie mumbled.

"Yes, it was, and in that realization, I tried to rectify the situation and sent her a box of chocolate right after the factory opened. I wanted to clear my conscience, so I asked her to forgive me for playing off on her fears like that. She wrote me back about a week later saying that she forgave me for having hurt her and wished me well."

Charlie swallowed, but it was clear that he did not fully understand what Willy Wonka's story was implying. Deep down inside, the child pondered the idea of giving something back to the chocolatier as a peace offering, but he did not have anything to offer. He was poor, and his pockets were completely empty. Instead of speaking of this discomfort, he tried to block the tears that seemed to be streaming, at will, down his cheeks.

"Charlie?"

He turned his head, his eyes now red and puffy from trying to keep himself from crying. It was not proving very successful, but instead of responding, he bit down on his lip to keep from answering. He knew that if he did, then he would no doubt start to cry and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Noticing this, Wonka took a deep breath. He did not want to mention the boy's tears, so instead of addressing that, he opted to go another route. "I would very much like to be your friend. I have pondered if that would even be possible after what I have done."

"You want to be friends with me?" Charlie asked weakly.

Wonka nodded. "Very much so, but Charlie, there's far more that I need to tell you."

"What?"

"Well, it will all come in due time," he said. "Right now, I think we should get back to your house and make sure that your mother and grandfather know that you're safe."


	16. Chapter 15: The Truth Emerges

_Author's note: Sorry to say that my work on 'In Another's Eyes' is going slowly, so I am hoping to get this chapter up and hopefully by the end of the week I can update the other story. With so much going on here, it may take a while. But, not to worry, this story is finished, and once the editing is done, I should get these chapters up within pretty good intervals._

_As for the individual reviews:_

_Kerry most of the angst parts are behind us now. I felt that it was emotional angst at the beginning, specifically when Charlie was not certain about what was going to happen and how things were going to be resolved. Now that Wonka has found him, it should not be too much more angst left. Glad you are enjoying it, and hope that you continue to enjoy the story. As I said, it's done, just gotta get with the program and post the chapters. I want to have this one wrapped up by the end of next week so that I can start posting a Christmassy story._

_Onlyaman, glad to see you reading this again. I think your reviews are really interesting because some of them are from before you watched the film, and some are after. It gives me a good objective idea of how the movie's role plays out in all of this, so thanks for giving me your insight on the before and after parts. Hope you can warm up to the kind of impact that I got from Willy Wonka._

_Ya Ya, glad to see you back again, and glad you like the chapter._

_KansReader, thanks for the support on this and other stories. It is greatly appreciated._

_Now without any further ado, I give you chapter 15._

_Edited on February 10, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 15: The Truth Emerges**

As the Wonkavator landed in the same place it had been parked during Wonka's earlier visit to Charlie's house, he and the boy disembarked and returned to the front of the house. The first thing they noticed was that it was very dark inside. The curtains hung limply over the windows, thus giving off the impression that the house was uninhabited.

For a moment Charlie thought that perhaps everyone had retired for the night. He looked at the chocolatier and saw that he was opening what looked to be a pocket watch. "How late is it?" He asked.

"It's only half past eight, it's just seems later because it's dark," came the answer as Wonka returned the object to his waistcoat pocket. "Does your family usually retire at such an early hour?"

"No, when she's not working, Mom usually likes to stay up and watch the news on television," Charlie said, a tremor cursing through him. Without saying anything else, he reached the door and opened it. As the two of them entered, they found Grandmas Georgina and Josephine and Grandpa George fast asleep.

To Willy Wonka, it looked as though nothing had changed since he had left to go look for Charlie.

At that moment, Charlie looked at him, his voice filled with nervousness as he spoke. "Where could they have gone?"

"My guess is they went out to look for you," the chocolatier said. "I told your mother that I would go find you, but she seems to be someone who would prefer to act on her instincts as opposed to letting someone else do it." Looking down at Charlie, the chocolatier knew that something was wrong, the boy's face looked almost white and his blue eyes carried a dullness that not even the darkness could conceal.

It was clear that the boy's mind was positively reeling. He watched as Charlie approached the back of the one room house and saw that his mother's bed was empty. He ran his hand along the sheets and remembering what had happened just before Wonka had found him, he turned and looked at the man. "Why did they leave?"

"I don't know," Wonka said as the boy went over to the table and sat down.

"What if something happened to them?" Charlie asked.

"If they stay out of certain areas of town, they should be fine," he said as he seated himself on the other side. "Try not to worry."

"You don't understand, they're my family…"

"…I do understand," Wonka interrupted. "Just because I may seem inhumane doesn't mean that I am. I know that your family is very important to you, Charlie. I can also tell that you are very special to them as well."

"I never said that you were inhumane," Charlie said, his voice etched with hurt.

"I know you didn't," the chocolatier conceded. "Would it make you feel better if we went out and looked for them?"

"I wouldn't know where to look," Charlie said.

"We'll take the Wonkavator and go the distance between here and the hotel where Violet and her father are staying," Wonka suggested as he started to get up. By this time, his head was literally spinning, but instead of letting the worried boy see this, he released a pent up sigh and started towards the door.

Wordlessly, Charlie got up and followed Wonka outside. As soon as they had cleared the front door, the boy closed it, and they made their way over to the Great Glass Elevator. Silence filled them both, but he watched Wonka as he reached the glass object. Instead of opening it, the candy maker leaned himself up against his, his head bowed and resting in one of his hands.

At that moment, it became more than clear to the boy that the chocolatier was ill. The man's slender frame seemed to be wavering as he leaned up against the door to the strangely shaped elevator. "Mr. Wonka?" He eventually whispered, his unasked concern literally hanging in the air.

Before the chocolatier could answer, a voice in the distance called out. "There they are, Willy Wonka and Charlie Bucket. I told you that I saw some strange object land in this neighborhood. We get this interview, and every person in London will be reading our paper because we got the 'exclusive'."

The small group of people started rushing towards them. "Mr. Wonka, Charlie!" One of the men called out, his voice filling the air. "Hey Maxine, make sure you have the front door covered, we don't want to miss out on this interview because they managed to elude us like they have somehow managed to do all day."

Charlie looked at Wonka, fright now laced in his eyes. "What do we do now?"

"We have to go back to the factory," Wonka managed, his voice weak. "Unless you want to give another interview?"

"No way, once was enough for me," Charlie said, but when he noticed that the door leading into the house was now blocked, he took a deep breath. "What about my mother and grandfather? They could be in trouble."

Wonka opened the glass door and gently pushed the boy inside. Firmly, he closed it swiftly behind them just as the reporters had reached the enclosure. One of the men tried to open it and gain access, but what he did not count on was for the chocolatier to press a button on the control panel. The reporter could do nothing except feel the object drift away from him and his entourage. He began to swear under his breath as he watched the object drifted to the heavens and disappeared from view.

* * *

Inside the Wonkavator, Wonka looked at Charlie. "That was close."

"What about my mother and grandfather?" The boy asked.

"Try not to worry," he said in the same comforting manner as he had used when Charlie asked about the well-being of the other children. "When we get back to the factory, I will ask Mr. Wilkenson to go out and look for them, he knows what your grandfather looks like and from my description, he should also be able to find your mother as well."

"Can't we look for them ourselves?" He asked.

Instead of immediately responding, the chocolatier took a deep breath. "Charlie, I don't know if I can do that. I'm starting to feel rather dizzy…"

"…You mean; you're getting kind of sick?" He asked.

Wonka nodded. "I don't know, it's a rather new sensation for me, and it is not a very pleasant one."

The boy looked into the pale face of the candy maker. Tentatively, he reached over and lightly touched the man's forehead in the same manner his mother had often done with him. After a second, he pulled his hand away. "Your face is really hot."

"It's just a slight fever, probably nothing," he said with a weak smile.

"It could be more than just nothing," Charlie said, and shuddered. "You could get sick like my dad…"

Wonka took a deep breath. He could see the fear that was evident on Charlie's face. "…I'm going to be fine," he said with a small trace of exasperation in his tone.

"How do you know?" The boy pressed.

"Well, when you consider that this is a result of my getting caught out in the rain yesterday, then it really is not all that significant. Don't worry, it's just a slight cold, and probably nothing to be alarmed about." Although Wonka's voice did not sound all that convincing, Charlie tried to take his word for it. Of course, judging from his expression, the boy was simply not so sure.

"Charlie?" Wonka's voice emerged and brought him back to the present. "I will not make light of things, but it is rather uncommon for me to leave the factory. Last night, against better judgment, I did. As I was returning, I got caught out in the rain and was completely soaked when I got home. I thought that when I woke this morning that I would just have the sniffles, but instead, I was feeling rather unwell all day. That's why I suggested that we go back to the factory." He closed his eyes. "Will you help me get back?"

"What can I do?" He asked.

"I cannot fully operate the Wonkavator, I need you to bring us safely back," he said.

"Me?" the boy asked weakly. "What if I cause this thing to crash?"

"You won't," he said with a slight smile. "If you can handle the Fizzy Lifting Drinks, you can handle this. Just listen carefully, and do exactly as I say."

Charlie looked at the chocolatier. "I-I don't know if I can."

"Yes you can," he said. "Charlie, because my head is spinning, I cannot navigate it. If I so much as push the wrong button, we could end up crashing. Blurry vision is not going to help us right now. I need you to do this for me. You're very intelligent, and you know how to do a job. I know that you doubt yourself, but don't, just do as I say and then everything will be fine, I promise. Besides, one day all of this will be yours, so there's no time like the present for you to start learning it."

Upon hearing these words, Charlie looked at him. "What do you mean, all of this will be mine?"

"I wanted to explain that later, but Charlie, that was why I sent out the Golden Tickets, I was looking for someone to one day take my place. That someone is you," Wonka began. "I know that this seems rather overwhelming right now, but the important thing for you to know is that you have nothing to be afraid of. My boy, you did not lose like you thought, you won."

"The chocolate?" The boy asked weakly.

Wonka smiled slightly, but nodded. "No, not just the chocolate. You've won far more than just that." He took a deep breath. "When you gave me the Everlasting Gobstopper back, you changed everything, you just didn't realize it."

Charlie lowered his head as the factory came into view. "Mr. Wonka, I'm frightened."

"Sometimes fear is the only thing that keeps you from reaching your potential," he said. "Now, there's a series of three buttons that you'll need to push one after the other. Once you do that, the Wonkavator will one again realign itself in the tracks at the main building. The rest will pretty much take care of itself."

The boy nodded and looked at the chocolatier. "OK. Which buttons?"

"Along the far wall, there's a button that reads the word 'off'. Do you see it?"

Charlie looked in the direction to where the chocolatier was indicating and when he found it, he nodded. "Yes, but won't this shut everything down?"

"No, it will align the Wonkavator to the track nearest to my office," he said. "Do you remember how everything is cut in half there?" When the boy nodded he continued speaking. "The name is also cut in half here. It won't shut anything down."

Charlie nodded as the chocolatier continued speaking. "Now, press the button and then press the one just to the right and below that one. It should read 'pbj'."

"What does that mean?"

"Peanut butter and jelly, what else would be appropriate coding for a cafeteria?" Wonka smirked. "OK, Charlie, press it now."

Charlie pressed the button and suddenly the Wonkavator started to fall back towards the factory. "W-what now?"

"Press the button just to the right of that one and hold on," he instructed.

After pressing the button, Charlie's eyes clamped shut as he began to feel the Glass Wonkavator falling back down towards the factory. Seconds later, it jolted and he briefly opened his eyes to see that they were now inside the factory. As the object shifted and realigned itself on the tracks, he could feel himself being shoved up against Wonka's side.

A slight 'oof' emerged from the chocolatier, but soon they began to slow down. As he felt this, he opened his eyes to see that Wonka, although not feeling well, seemed to be the epitome of calmness. "It worked," he managed to speak, his voice cracking.

"Of course it worked," the chocolatier said as a slight smile suddenly crossed his face. Instead simply looking tired and drawn, the man appeared as though he could tackle just about anything. "Did you honestly think that I would let something happen to you?"

"I didn't know," the boy managed to speak, his words somewhat shaky.

"Well, you did a good job, Charlie," he said. As the Wonkavator completely stopped moving, the outer doors opened. "Come, we've got so much time and so little to do."

Instead of waiting for the candy maker to say 'strike that, reverse it,' Charlie watched as he retrieved his cane. As they stepped out into the office, the boy took a deep breath. "That was probably the scariest trip of my entire life," he whispered honestly.

"Yet you handled everything very well." The response was quick as Wonka crossed the room, placed the cane in the holder, and seated himself at his desk. Instead of speaking further, he ran his hands through his tousled hair, his breathing somewhat strained.

"Mr. Wonka, what about my family?" Charlie eventually asked.

"Yes, well, I will send word and ask Mr. Wilkenson to go out and find Clara and your grandfather," he said and picked up the phone and dialed a series of numbers. As soon as he heard that the line had been picked up, he spoke. "Yes, I managed to make it back with a little help," he began. "Could you do me a favor?"

After several moments of silence passed, he continued speaking. "I need you to go and find Charlie's grandfather and mother. His grandfather you've seen, his name is Joe. His mother's name is Clara, and she is the spitting image of Charlie. She's a little shorter than me with blonde hair and blue eyes. Like I said, Charlie takes after her. You can't miss her. When you find them, let them know that Charlie's here and that he's safe, but he's been worried about them," he paused and it was obvious that the person on the other line was speaking. "Yes, my guess is they are between the Buckets' house and the Hotel Astoria, where Violet and her father are staying." Another pause. "Thank you, I really do appreciate your help, and before you even ask, I have no intention of leaving the factory again tonight."

Once Wonka had returned the phone to the cradle, he turned around and smiled. "He's leaving right now to go out and look for them. Try not to worry."

Charlie nodded but continued to look around the strangely decorated office.

Wonka took a deep breath but continued to watch the child's actions. He was unable to read what thoughts were going through Charlie's mind. Given what had happened in this particular place, the chocolatier figured that it was centered on the cross words and anger that had been exchanged. This, if anything had rendered the boy silent.

After several minutes had passed, Wonka spoke, his attempt at sounding reassuring somehow emerged flat and unconvincing. "Charlie, Mr. Wilkenson will find them. He will know where to look."

The boy nodded, but continued to look around the room, his thoughts literally racing.

"Do you want to go somewhere else and talk?" The chocolatier asked. "Something tells me that you are not particularly fond of this room right now."

Charlie took a deep breath, but managed to shake his head sadly. Any words that he could possibly say seemed to be stuck in his throat.

He watched as the candy maker once more got to his feet and retrieved his cane.

"Come, I know just the place," he said and led Charlie from the office.


	17. Chapter 16: Searches and Confessions

_I am posting this chapter because I want to get this story done by the end of next week and there are a few more chapters that need posting before I can start posting the Christmas story. I don't like to keep you folks hanging with more than 2 stories being posted. 'In Another's Eyes' will eventually be updated, but I may have to put it on hold for a short time while I try and devote my time to bears, cards, and the Christmas story. I have a basic plot premise already for it and think it will be pretty good._

_Because I will be out of town over the Holidays, then I will be working on a deadline. Hopefully it will get done by the time we leave, but hard call._

_I wanted to let everyone here know that I posted another CatCF oneshot, but since it's a crossover with Touched by an Angel, I posted it over there. It's called 'Entertaining Angels Unaware'. Please have a look at it and let me know what you think._

_Otherwise, here's hoping that you will enjoy this chapter. Please review. It's discouraging when only one person reviews and as I said other times, it takes a lot more time to write this stuff and edit it than it takes to leave a review. So please humor me._

_Edited on February 10, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 16: Searches and Confessions**

At the same time Charlie and Wonka had returned to the factory, Clara Bucket and her father were still wandering aimlessly through the streets of London. The woman was becoming more and more worried with each step they took.

"Are you sure that this was where you lost Charlie, Dad?" She asked after several minutes had passed and she was left looking into the warm eyes of her father. They had already walked the streets parallel to Piccadilly Circus and were now ready to head back in the direction of their part of town. If truth were known, Clara was starting to feel as though she was going in circles.

Joe took a deep breath. "I could have sworn that this was where we had gotten separated. He ran off towards one of the back alleys and turned left. I am not so sure that he was really in his right mind. The boy was completely beside himself when the reporters showed up, and who would blame him?"

"Maybe Willy managed to find him," she said.

"Willy?" Joe asked skeptically. "You call this man by his first name?"

"Yes, he told me that I could and it would be an insult for me not to," she said. "Let's just go back, maybe they'll be there."

Joe took a deep breath as he looked at his daughter. She seemed to carry an almost resolute look on her face. "Clara, how can you put so much faith into this man? He's nothing like the person that any of us imagined him to be. Don't you remember what I told you about what happened yesterday after the tour?"

"You didn't tell me everything, Dad," Clara said. "You didn't tell me that Charlie gave him the Everlasting Gobstopper back or that that candy could have been sold for a lot of money."

"I didn't want to make Charlie look bad," Joe said, his voice taking on a cynical tone.

"I know, but he doesn't look bad, he's lived up to everything we have always taught him about honesty. Willy told me that that little piece of candy was all the proof that we needed to attest the fact that he's a very special person."

"I'm starting to wonder if you're talking about Charlie or Wonka here," Joe said. "Clara, what is going on with you? Why all this sudden interest in Willy Wonka? You've never been interested in him before and now you're practically getting stars in your eyes every time his name is even mentioned."

Clara took a deep breath. "Dad, maybe it's nothing, but he's not like anyone I've ever met before. When we spoke about Charlie, he looked at me and said, 'I am not an inhumane monster, Clara', and I believed him."

"You believed him?" Joe asked. "Just like that. Is it me or do I detect that you are now the one who isn't looking at the world through realistic eyes?"

Clara flushed and looked down at the ground, all the while trying to conceal the reddish hue that now tinged her cheeks. How could she tell her father something that she was having a difficult time understanding herself? Instead of speaking, she swallowed and continued to walk, her steps slow and deliberate.

Joe watched his daughter, he had not seen her this worked up about anything in such a long time. In fact, what he noticed was how she seemed to carry a regretful, almost guilty, look on her face. He could tell that she was having a difficult time controlling or concealing these particular emotions.

"Clara," he eventually spoke, his voice soft. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing, Dad, just forget it," she said as she tried to keep from looking at him.

"You were never a very good liar, you know," Joe smiled at her. "Just tell me what's on your mind."

"I was just thinking about Charlie and wondering where he was. What else would I be thinking about?" She asked. When she looked at her father, she could see that even in the darkness, he was now shaking his head.

"Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're thinking about Willy Wonka," he said. "It doesn't take an expert to see that you're attracted to him."

Clara turned and looked at her father. "I have only spoken to him twice. How can you make an assumption like that? I met him for the first time less than twenty-four hours ago. There is no conceivable way that I could like him. I don't really know him."

"Well, think about this," he began. "It only took one conversation with your mother for me to know that she was the only girl for me."

"Yes, but there's a vast difference between Mom and me. What about Clarence, Dad?" she asked, her voice laced in traces of defensiveness.

"I know you think about Clarence a lot, and the fact that he was a good man. But, I also know that he's not here anymore, and you still are," Joe said. "I'm not saying that you should pursue Willy Wonka, but what I am saying that you ought to consider that ten months have passed since Clarence's death. I knew that boy pretty well, and I know that he would want you to move on, and find happiness. Maybe the only suggestion I can really give you is to let go of what once was so that you can embrace what may be."

"It's only been ten months, Dad, yet it sometimes feels as though everything happened yesterday," she said.

"I know, but we all noticed something had changed in you this morning when we woke up," he said. "You seemed happier than you had been in months. We didn't question it because it seemed too obtrusive, but Clara, we all noticed it. Do you want to tell me what happened when you met him?"

Taking a deep breath, she looked into her father's aged eyes. "Last night, when I met Willy outside the gates of the factory, he listened to me and seemed to understand my worries and concerns. At the same time, there was this moment when he put his arm around my shoulder and tried to comfort me. In all the time that I had been sad and coping with the responsibilities of keeping our family together, I realized how nice it was to be comforted, not out of obligation, but just out of caring." She paused. "Dad, before you argue that you and Mom have given me that, I have to explain that it felt different somehow. Willy is someone who is about my age and I know that it sounds crazy, but his presence somehow affirmed to me that I would not grow into some lonely old woman in a house full of faded memories and a half a dozen cats."

Joe rested his hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Clara, I know that you've been sitting on the sidelines of life since the day Clarence died and whether I agree with you or not, I think that you finding something that gives you hope is a good thing."

"But, how could I even do that?" She asked. "You and Mom, George and Georgina have been bed ridden for twenty years. At least that was the case until the Golden Ticket and you getting to go to the factory. I've worked every day since Clarence died. I don't regret it, but I have been thinking about how I barely have time for myself. The strangest thing for me is the idea that the last time Mom ever got out of bed to do something besides go to the bathroom was when I was fourteen years old."

"In other words, what we did to you and Clarence was not such a good thing," he said.

"I don't know, but I do feel as though life is somehow passing me by," she said honestly. "The worst thing about all of this is the fact that I know that even if you were to go and look for a job, that it would be hard to come by."

"Perhaps, it would be, but I think I owe it to you and Charlie to try," Joe said. "Maybe it's not too late for me to go and do something about it. The point is, I think it is time for your mother and me, George and Georgina to allow you live your life as was intended. We've held you back long enough, and besides, I do know of people who have started new relationships in a shorter span of time than ten months," Joe said. "It doesn't mean that you loved Clarence any less, it just means that you should seriously ask yourself if he would really want you to sit in this lull or get up and do something about making your life a bit better."

She wrung her hands together as his words emerged, but soon began to speak, her voice laced with pain. "Let's just say you're right and I should get to know someone new. What would I say to George and Georgina about it? I've stopped grieving your son and am now interested in dating an eccentric chocolatier? I am not so certain that they would be happy to hear those words coming from me. And even if they gave me their blessing, what would Willy say to the whole thing? I mean; just look at me."

"I am, and I see a beautiful girl who has the potential to bring out the best in another person," he said. "I know that I cannot imagine what my life would be like without your mother, but I do know that if she were to leave me tomorrow, that I would have to find the courage to keep living even if it seems impossible. Clara, you've grieved Clarence long enough and you have supported this family even longer. You have done far more for us, then we have done for you."

Clara took a deep breath. "Dad, it's simply not going to happen. Willy Wonka is presently sitting at the very top of the society pages. These days everyone wants a piece of him, and even if I was attracted to him, there are probably hundreds of other women who are as well. I can imagine that a great many of them are further socially than I am."

"Perhaps, but none of them even know him and you do," Joe said.

"Yes, but even a decision about me would still be left in his hands and right now, he seems to be more interested in resolving everything with Charlie," Clara whispered, but lowered her head as her next words emerged. "Why are we even having this conversation anyway? We should be trying to find Charlie, not talking about Willy Wonka's love life."

"That's true, but it still doesn't change the fact that you are harboring feelings for Mr. Wonka," Joe said. "You were concerned for him earlier tonight when I got back and saw the two of you standing in the living room. I could tell that you are worried about Charlie, but you were also concerned for him. He didn't look so well either. If you ask me, he looked rather tired and worn out."

"He was showing the signs of a cold," she said. "He said he got caught out in the rain last night after he brought me home." As soon as these words emerged, she looked at her father. "Dad, let's just try and find Charlie, OK?"

Joe put a comforting arm around his daughter and the two of them continued walking in the direction of their part of town. En route to it, they walked passed the factory and Clara stopped and stared up at the smokestacks.

"Why are we stopping here?" He eventually asked and Clara shook her head.

"Wishful thinking," she mused as she once again started to walk, her back now to the front gate. This time it was Joe who stopped and rubbed his hands brusquely together. It was indeed getting colder.

"Let's go home, maybe Charlie will be waiting for us when we get there," Joe said and the two of them started to distance themselves from the factory gates.

* * *

At the same moment Joe and Clara were walking away from the factory and heading back in the direction of their home, Thomas Wilkenson was standing and waiting in front of the Bucket house. He had intended on knocking, but could not help but notice that through the window, the lights were out and the house was dark. The entire area was quiet and still.

It had been close to an hour since Wonka had sent him out to find Joe and Clara and he was starting to wonder if he was ever going to find them. The task remotely reminded him of trying to find a needle in a haystack.

Although it felt like an eternity would pass, he noticed that only ten minutes had gone by when he spotted movement at the end of the street.

As the two people came closer, he noticed that the woman was dressed in a dark colored dress as well as a ragged black shawl, which was wrapped snugly around her shoulders. The older man, he immediately recognized as Charlie's grandfather.

Wilkenson's assertions about them were affirmed when they passed under a nearby streetlamp, which cast a beam of light across their faces. Wonka's description had been about as accurate as his candy was tasty.

"Excuse me?" He spoke, his gaze shifting from Joe to Clara.

Joe raised his head upon hearing these words, his eyes widening when he saw the man coming closer whom his grandson had identified as Mr. Slugworth.

"Yes, can we help you?" Clara asked.

"Are you Charlie's mother and grandfather by any chance?" He asked.

"Yes, I'm Clara and this is my father, Joe," she said. "Why?"

"I don't wish to scare you as I did the two children earlier today, but I have news for both of you." The man's voice emerged as a high pitched chirp.

"A-are you Thomas Wilkenson?" Clara asked.

"Yes," came the answer. "I'm glad that I was able to find you, I thought I would be looking all over London for you. Mr. Wonka sent me here to inform you that Charlie is at the factory and that he is safe. I was sent to bring you to him."

"Bring us?" Joe broke his silence and looked at the man. He was not quite sure he was willing to trust him, in fact, instead of waiting for him to answer, his daughter spoke.

"Mr. Wonka found Charlie?" Clara asked, relief etching its way across her face when she saw Wilkenson nodding.

"I did not see your son, Mrs. Bucket, but Mr. Wonka assured me that Charlie is there and that he has been worried about you," he began. "You see, the last time I saw him, it was when he was standing outside the front gate with Violet Beauregarde and they were trying to send signals to Mr. Wonka by using a mirror."

"So it was true," Clara said. "Everything that Willy told me was the truth."

"He would not lie to you," Wilkenson affirmed. "Perhaps instead of standing out here and catching our deaths, I should take you both back to the factory."

Joe looked at his daughter. "I think I should stay here, Clara. My wife, George and Georgina will be worried when they wake up and find the three of us gone. I should at least stay and explain to them what happened."

"Dad, would you rather go back to the factory?" Clara asked. "I can stay here and let them know."

"No, Clara," Joe said with an adamant shake of his head. "I think that you are more trusting in this regard, and you are Charlie's mother. It was enough that I could go to the factory for the tour. I think this time you should go."

Wilkenson took a deep breath and looked at Clara. "I will escort you there."

Clara nodded. "Thank you, that's probably the best option, then."

Joe looked at his daughter. "Be careful, and don't forget what we talked about."

Instead of speaking, she simply embraced her father and started to walk slowly away from the house.

For his part, Joe went inside and closed the door.


	18. Chapter 17: Summer Solstice

_Seeing as this story has 25 Chapters and an Epilogue, I have close to 8 more postings to put up here before I can wrap this up and start posting a Christmas story. I hope that you enjoy the chapter, and please keep me posted on what you think._

_Saphiresnowlady, thanks for stopping in and giving this story a read through. I am glad you are enjoying this so far._

_YaYa, I think that she's having a sort of internal emotional conflict, but just stay tuned and see what happens._

_Enjoy and please review._

_Edited on February 10, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 17: Summer Solstice**

Wonka was quiet as he led Charlie through the bright and colorful corridors of the factory. The vivid colors reminded the boy of the first time Wonka had shown them the Chocolate Room, and he could not get over the idea that this was all a dream. The miraculous room had inspired him, and all that he could contemplate was whether or not they would be revisiting it. No matter where they would go, Charlie believed that there was nothing more magical than Willy Wonka or his factory.

Now, after having left the chocolatier's office, the boy had started to feel a little bit better, although Wonka's manner still left him feeling somewhat disquieted. At the same instant, maybe those words about the two of them being friends were a front. Yet somewhere in Charlie's conscience, he somehow knew that they had been authentic and real.

To Charlie, any adult who extended a hand of friendship to a kid was pretty special. However, when that someone was Willy Wonka, then the gesture was beyond anyone's scope of comprehension.

As they walked, he wondered if the candy maker was even going to say anything further about how he was doing physically. His face had, since their return, at least returned to its normal color.

They continued down yet another hallway until they reached a door that seemed to be under what looked to be an arched rainbow. Charlie reached out and touched the frame, only to discover that it was made of a soft cottony substance.

"It's cotton candy," Wonka said, thus noticing his movements. "Go ahead and try some."

Charlie heeded the suggestion and took a small piece of the lighter blue colored fluff and carefully licked his fingers. As he did, he immediately tasted the sugary sweetness of the candy. "Do all of the colors taste like bubblegum?" He asked.

"No, the red tastes like cherries, the orange like oranges, the yellow like lemon, the green is peppermint and the indigo is blueberry," Wonka said as he opened the door and the two of them entered the room.

The first thing that Charlie noticed was that the room was much smaller than the Chocolate Room, but seemed to emanate the scents of fudge, cinnamon as well as a mixture of other sweets. It reminded him of Christmas although it was warm and comfortable inside. In fact, it was so warm that he removed his jacket and carefully draped it over his arm. "What's this room called?" He asked after several minutes of taking in the warm colors that now surrounded him.

"I gave it the name 'Summer Solstice'," Wonka said smiling, but before Charlie could ask him why, the chocolatier continued. "I chose it because it always feels like being in a valley in the middle of summer even when it is the dead of winter."

Charlie nodded and walked over to what looked to be a tree, the bark of it, made of dark brown rock candy. He seated himself at the base, his hand touching the soft grass. "Is this candy too?" He asked.

The chocolatier nodded. "Yes, it's made of dried coconut and food coloring."

Charlie picked up a blade and placed it on his tongue, the sweetness literally engulfing him. Next, he took a deep breath and could almost taste the air. Instead of commenting on this, he waited for Wonka to seat himself beside him.

As anticipated, the candy maker lowered himself onto the ground, but he removed his hat and placed it next to him. He then looked at Charlie and watched as the boy nervously ran his hand over the grass.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes and it seemed as though they were both somewhat afraid to speak. Charlie was afraid that he would wake up back home in his bed and staring at chipped paint on the walls. It was no secret that the thought of sitting with Willy Wonka and looking out across a candied landscape was nothing more than something that came straight out of a dream.

For his part, Wonka was worried that he would say something that would hurt or offend the boy. He had already gotten angry with Charlie once, and the last thing he wanted to do was bring undue harm to a child that he genuinely liked. He continued to run his hands through his hair. Eventually, he spoke, his soft tenor voice filling Charlie's ears and making the boy raise his head.

"I used to come here a lot and try and compose in my mind what I wanted to say or do. I even had this strange idea of putting all these words onto little note cards," he said.

"Note cards?" Charlie asked.

Wonka nodded. "It is rather obscure I know, but since I'm not the world's best when it comes to talking to people, I figured that it would be easier that way. I later realized that it wasn't."

"We sometimes do that in school," Charlie mused. "The teacher would give us a card and tell us that we could write a little cheat sheet that we would need for a test…" His voice trailed off, the last word seemed to hang lazily in the air.

If nothing else, this made Wonka swallow. It was almost as though Charlie Bucket knew about the test he had devised, but refused to comment on it. This made Willy Wonka feel all the more despondent about what it was he had done. Through all of this, he was trying, without success, at reconciling with his conscience. The direction this conversation was taking was obviously not helping.

After what seemed like ages, the chocolatier eventually spoke, his words soft, but filled with honesty. "I was never very good at taking tests. I used to get nervous."

Charlie raised his head upon hearing these words, but instead of looking at Wonka, his gaze seemed affixed on something across the room. "I always thought that there was nothing that you could not do."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that…" Charlie said, his voice trailing somewhat and it was clear that he was trying to get his thoughts straight. Once he did, he continued. "I suppose I always figured that you were like King Midas, and everything you touched turned to gold."

Wonka shook his head, but instead of affirming or denying the boy's assumption, he spoke, a question emerging. "Do you know what eventually happened to Midas?"

"Yeah," the boy nodded. "He turned his food and drink as well as one of his children into gold. Later, he had to beg the gods to take back this so called 'gift'. We read about it in school when we studied Greek Mythology."

"Do you think anyone, even today, would ever be able to live with such an ability?" Wonka asked. "It's a high expectation for any person to contend with."

"I don't know, I just thought…" his voice trailed off. "…Oh forget it."

"Tell me what you meant," the chocolatier said, his words even, albeit much softer than the boy had anticipated.

Charlie lowered his head, but said nothing. After several minutes of silence passed between them, the candy maker reached over and rested his hand on the boy's shoulder. "You know, I am not perfect, Charlie. I'm a person just like you…"

"…No you're not," Charlie began.

Instead of speaking, Willy Wonka sneezed and he dug in his pocket for a handkerchief. As he finished cleaning his nose, he smiled despite himself. "Does that mean you never sneeze?"

"Mr. Wonka, I…"

"…Charlie, I am not perfect, I make mistakes just like any other person," he said. "I tested you and you passed the test, but at what cost? I tried to send someone to meet you and Violet at the gate and it turned out to be a mistake. I should have come out myself, but I didn't, even though I saw you."

"You sent Slugworth?" Charlie looked at him.

"No, I have no contact with Slugworth," Wonka shook his head. "The man you saw was Thomas Wilkenson and he works for me."

"For you?"

Wonka nodded. "Charlie, he poses no danger to you or Violet. We can explain that to her when we see her again, but you needed to know that he means you no harm, that he confronted you before the tour because of a test."

"You tested me?" Charlie asked. "Why?"

"I had to," he said. "I was trying to find someone who was honest and caring. Your mother said that you were all those things, but I had to find out and the test was the only way."

"But you said I lost," Charlie said, his voice cracking.

Wonka shook his head. "You didn't," he affirmed. When Charlie did not respond to this, he took a deep breath. "Let me ask you something. Have you ever read some of the most famous fairy tales in the world?" Somehow the chocolatier's love of reading brought their conversation back to the topic of books and literature. When the boy nodded, he spoke again, his next question filling the room. "How did they end?"

"With some variant of them living happily ever after," Charlie mused. "My mother used to read them to me before I would go to sleep at night. They were nice, but anymore I'm too old for them."

"Do you ever believe that it's possible for you to live happily ever after?" He asked.

Charlie shook his head. "No, I guess because I always thought that these were ideas from a bunch of stories and that they weren't real."

"Life is a story, Charlie; it has a beginning, a middle, and an end," Wonka said. "It's what you put into that story that will make your life special and meaningful. Do you think that I was one day given this factory and had an instruction manual on how to go about running it or making candy?"

"No, Grandpa Joe told me about when you first opened the factory and how Slugworth got jealous and sent spies to steal your ideas. I always thought that you created it from nothing," the boy said.

"He was right, but the story of your life is not over yet, don't make the mistake of believing that it is," Wonka said.

"I don't understand."

"When we were in the Wonkavator, I mentioned something about regret, and you mentioned that you felt guilt for having broken the rules. You have dwelled on that mistake, but Charlie, that's already been rectified, don't trouble yourself anymore with it. What I'm saying is that you have no reason to feel regret."

As he spoke, he dug in his pocket and removed one of the Golden Tickets and handed the object to the boy. "Charlie, everything that I did goes back to the question of why I sent out the Golden Tickets in the first place. Did you ever wonder why it was I decided, out of the blue, to invite five children to the factory? Why not seven or six, or even four? What was it about the number five? Was it a good mathematical idea, a percentage that would work? What?"

"I don't know, I'm not very good in math," Charlie mused.

"Maybe you were never given the opportunity to try. Yet, I know that there are questions that have not yet been answered, questions that you feel you need answers to. You're still wondering how it is that we are sitting here in this room talking, yet here we are," Wonka said smiling.

The boy nodded.

"Well, everything happened because of the test. I think deep down inside, you knew this, but couldn't really formulate it into words," he said. "I did all of these things to find a child who I could trust enough to run this place when I one day leave. That is, I was looking for someone whom I could give the factory over to."

"Is that why you said in that elevator thing that I would have to learn it?" Charlie asked.

Wonka nodded. "The child that I have chosen is you."

"Me?" He turned and looked at the chocolatier. "But why?"

"Let me ask you something," Wonka said. "How did you like the chocolate factory?"

"I think it's the most wonderful place in the whole world," Charlie said, his voice filled with authenticity.

"Who better to give it to than someone who loves it as much as I do?" Wonka asked. "I know that I cannot go on forever, that one day I will be unable to continue and who better to entrust the secrets and ideas of this place to than someone like you who will understand and accept the way I do things? If I were to have entrusted all of this to a grownup, they would do everything their way and not mine. So, I decided a long time ago that I had to find a child who was honest and trustworthy, someone whom I could share my candy-making secrets with and know that they are safe. Charlie, that search led me to you."

"You're serious?"

"Oh yes, I am, and I have never been more serious in my life," the chocolatier said. "Would you be willing to move here and learn to do what I do?"

"W-what about school?" The boy asked.

"You must continue with your education, find out about all the things that you would one day need for when you become a grown man," Wonka said.

"What about my family?" He asked.

"We would have to ask them if they would agree to come here as well," the chocolatier began. "Of course, having seen the house where you live, perhaps they might be willing, especially if they know that it would make you happy."

Charlie looked at him and nodded. "It would, but Mr. Wonka, what about Violet?"

"She will be going home very soon, but not to worry, she will be receiving everything that the Golden Ticket has promised her," he said.

"She's not a bad person."

"No, none of the children who came here are internally bad, they just have their own vices to contend with," Wonka said. "Violet has actually proven herself to be quite a good friend to both you as well as to me."

"You really want to do all of this?" Charlie managed to speak. "Just because I gave you back something that was yours?"

Willy Wonka nodded. "In giving me something small, you have received something immense. I want you to remember no matter what happens, that sometimes a friendship is discovered through the mistakes and flaws that we all internally have. I told you in the Wonkavator that I made a mistake, and I would like for you to forgive me for my mistake, and perhaps it is important for me to know that all of the children who were here understand that I harbor no ill towards them. It was also important for them to realize that it was their choices that created what they experienced, I just allowed them to make the choice."

Charlie nodded and instead of speaking, he embraced the chocolatier.

* * *

About ten minutes later, they got up and started walking towards the door. "So, what do you think about this room?" Wonka asked, his voice light.

"I think it's great, and I think Violet would also love it," Charlie said, but yawned. "But, right now, with everything that's happened tonight, I'm kind of tired."

"Then, I'll take you to your room and let you get some sleep. Shall we first stop by my office and see if there is news from Mr. Wilkenson about your mother and grandfather?"

Charlie nodded. "OK," he paused, but looked at Wonka. "Are you, at least, feeling any better?"

"A little, but that's probably because I haven't gone back outside. I never was very good in cold weather," he said.

"You get used to it after awhile," Charlie said. "I just hope that my grandparents will not object to coming here."

"Hopefully they won't, but we'll have to wait and see," he said. "Won't we?"


	19. Chapter 18: The Enchanted Forest

_Author's Notes: I am back with another chapter. I am glad that the idea of the romance here is not totally cast aside. It isn't that I agree with the idea of shipping every character, it's just there's always been something about Mrs. Bucket that struck me. She's a pretty lady, and she seems to be perfect character for a sort of quasi psychology, specifically with regard to her grief about her husband versus her possible relationship with Willy Wonka._

_I love to see things play out like this, and I hope that through it all, I have managed to keep both characters in character. Writing stuff like this is not really easy, but it's been fun. _

_Back to work on the Christmas story. Enjoy, but please review._

* * *

**Chapter 18: The Enchanted Forest**

As Thomas Wilkenson led Clara Bucket down the street in the direction of the factory, they walked in quiet solitude. The man with the thinning dark hair and spectacles did not offer his jacket to her, but instead walked quickly with her trying to keep in steady rhythm with his steps.

"I figured that we should hurry somewhat in case the reporters return," he said all the while taking note of the fact that the woman looked to be rather chilled to the bone.

Within minutes they had reached the factory gates. He did not stop walking, but instead they rounded a corner before making their way towards an old building that was parallel to the larger crop of buildings on the factory grounds.

As they reached the door leading into one of the buildings, Wilkenson stuck his key into a nondescript door and opened it. "Go on in, Mrs. Bucket. Once we get inside, I'll leave you at Mr. Wonka's office. From there, you shouldn't have to wait too long."

"I just want to see my son," she managed to speak.

"I know, but in time you will, no one in there would ever anticipate making you wait longer than necessary," he said as they came down a long winding hallway. After turning right for about the fifth time, Clara was quickly learning that navigating the halls of this strange place was rather like making her way through a labyrinth.

After several minutes, she spoke, her voice soft as it filled the ears of the man in the boulder hat and spectacles. "You work for Mr. Wonka?" She asked, thus breaking her silence.

"Yes," came the simple answer.

"You pretended to be Mr. Slugworth?" She asked.

Instead of responding vocally, all Wilkenson did was nod his head affirmatively.

"Why?"

"I'm afraid I am not at liberty to say," came the simple response. "Mr. Wonka wishes to explain everything to Charlie and perhaps in time he will explain it all to you as well."

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "Can you explain one thing to me?" She eventually asked.

"If I am able to, then I will try."

"Tell me what you did that scared those two children so much," she said, her voice weak. "I saw Charlie and Violet came by the house earlier and they were both completely terrified. Charlie thought you were after them for the Everlasting Gobstoppers. Violet looked as though she was about to burst into tears. I had never seen a child as frightened as that little girl was."

As these words emerged, it somehow seemed apparent that contrary to what Wonka had confessed about his employee, the man still frightened her as he had done with the two children.

"When I arrived at the front of the gate, I saw them, but by the time I had reached them and touched Charlie's shoulder, they got scared and ran away."

"Charlie must have been really afraid as it is not like him to run away without adequate reason," she mused.

"His reaction was quite natural as I frightened him, perhaps more than I anticipated," he said. "These children believe me to be Arthur Slugworth, and they both thought that I wanted the Everlasting Gobstoppers that they had been given. Of course, I know that none of the children have them as Mr. Wonka had told me of their fates…"

"…The children don't know that, though," Clara said.

"Exactly," Wilkenson responded. "They never found out who I really was, and now it is going to be up to Mr. Wonka to explain this to Charlie before the boy and I meet again."

"I fear that that will be quite difficult," she said as they reached the office door and Wilkenson knocked. When no one answered, he simply opened the door and they entered the room.

"I anticipated that," he said and looked at her.

Wordlessly, Clara began to take in the odd décor of the room, but soon Wilkenson's voice emerged, thus bringing her crashing back down to earth. "Mrs. Bucket, perhaps I ought to take you to another room where you can at least sit down and wait. I imagine that you would not feel very comfortable here as Mr. Wonka only has a limited number of places to sit down." He leaned over the desk and began to scribble a note to the chocolatier.

Once he was finished, he looked at her. "I have written him a note so that he will know that you are here and that you are safe. That way Charlie will not needlessly worry."

"Where will we go?" She asked.

"A room where you can relax and perhaps get some rest."

"That sounds very nice," she said cordially. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," the man said as he ushered her from the office.

* * *

Outside in the corridor, Clara began to take in the vast amount of color that seemed to embody the factory. She remembered how dark and dismal the general London streets were during this time of year, and yet this place seemed to emanate color and life. She said nothing to this effect, instead she followed the tall balding man who walked in front of her.

"Do you ever get lost wandering around here?" She eventually asked after passing what looked to be the same hallway as the one she had been down before.

He turned around and waited for her catch up. "When I first started working here, I needed a small map to make out the various rooms and hallways. It was quite an adventure."

"How long have you been here?" She asked. "I don't mean to sound obtrusive, but I always believed that he had released all his workers, I had no idea that there were still some of you left."

Wilkenson smiled, the skin that surrounded his dark eyes wrinkling somewhat. "I am the only one of the original workers left, perhaps because I have been friends with Mr. Wonka for a number of years now. I knew him when he was just a child," he said.

"How old is he?" She asked.

"I cannot say, that is a question that you must ask him yourself," he said.

"I'm sorry, of course, you're right," she smiled apologetically. "I must admit that to those of us who live in the outside world, Willy Wonka has always carried an air of mystery and fascination about with him. I grew up here in town and my father always told stories about the factory and when he first started selling candy. I hope that you will not fault me for my curiosity."

"I don't," came the simple response. "These are merely questions that I cannot answer."

The rest of their trek continued in silence. As they reached a door which held the words 'The Enchanted Forest', Wilkenson carefully opened the door and led her into the room.

It was clear that the room was designed as a guest quarters. The overall essence of it seemed to contain all the things that were found in an elaborate hotel room. Of course, instead of it having a cabinet, bed, and television stand, this room was like a suite with a sofa and decorations that depicted a specific theme.

On one wall, there was dark green colored curtains that hung down over the windows. On either side of them what looked to be large trees that seemed to be growing in the room. "Are those real?" She asked as he adjusted the lights.

"The trees are rather an illusion," Wilkenson responded. "Mr. Wonka devised this room to be reminiscent of Sherwood Forest. They are actually not real, but they look real. The leaves are actually peppermint candy."

"Can I try one?" She asked.

"That's what they're there for," he said as she went over to the tree and picked one of the leaves and placed it on her tongue. As the sweet taste of peppermint filled her mouth she smiled.

"It's wonderful," she said as she continued to take in the rest of the room. "Everything here is like being outside in nature, but it's warm and comfortable."

He nodded. "I will leave you to wait for your son and Mr. Wonka. If you need anything specific, check in the cabinets. On the far wall is a bookshelf if you would like to do some reading."

"Thank you, but I'm not so sure I would be able to concentrate on a novel when I feel as though I am standing in the middle of a storybook right now." As she spoke, she continued to take in the rest of the room. "It's truly like traveling back in time."

Wilkenson nodded. "Make yourself at home, enjoy yourself, and if you require any further assistance, then I'm down the hall. My name is on the door to my room."

She nodded and once he had left the room and had closed the door, she started to take in the various aspects of the room even closer than before. The large room was predominantly dark green, but various shades of green could be seem after closer study. The Victorian style curtains and furniture gave off a rustic sensation and the brown carpeting gave off the essence of the forest ground.

She had never seen anything this beautiful in her life and she was once more left in awe of the man who could take so many different things and create nothing short of magic.

Walking over to the large closet, she opened the door and noticed a large green dressing gown hanging inside. "It's almost as though they were expecting me," she mumbled to herself as she pulled out the gown and held it against herself. The soft fabric of it was almost the same color and texture as the leaves of the trees and everything seemed to match in color and texture.

Bringing the fabric to her nose, she inhaled and noticed that instead of smelling the tanginess of peppermint, she was inhaling a scent that seemed reminiscent of Christmas and pine trees.

Glancing down at her clothing, she realized that her dress was dirty and in need of washing. If I am going to make myself comfortable here, then I suppose I could go ahead and use this, she thought trying all the while to maintain a sense of rationality. She looked down at her appearance once again before retreating into the bathroom.

Once she had changed clothes, she came out into the main room and felt the warmth engulf her. She had, over the years of living in a drafty house, grown accustomed to being cold. Now she felt warm and comfortable. Tying the belt around her waist, she found a mirror and stared at her reflection. "I look so different," she whispered as she pulled her blonde hair out of the ponytail and felt the softness of it as it landed on her shoulders. The hair was still dry and somewhat tangled, but at least it felt better to have it down.

Retrieving the dress and the shawl from the bathroom, she went over and draped both objects over the coat rack that was not too far away from the door. The coat rack looked like a tree with the branches extending out from it. Instead of leaves, small mirrors hung down from it, the light reflecting off of them and leaving prisms dancing across the walls. She smiled as she reached out her hand and touched one of them.

This is such a beautiful place, she thought for the umpteenth time since entering the room. She walked over to the television set and turned it on, the echoes of her favorite news program filling her ears. After several minutes of unfocused viewing, she realized that she was far too anxious for television and abruptly turned it off again.

Next, she went over to the bed and allowed her body to lay down across the blankets. Reaching over, she dimmed the lights. As soon as her eyes had managed to adjust to the now darkened room, she smiled.

Overhead, she could see was what looked to be a starry night sky. It was as though the person who had designed the room had done their homework on it. The stars and constellations were properly positioned in the sky and it felt as though she was now inside her own private planetarium.

She began to contemplate the conversation she had had with her father that evening when they had been out on the streets looking for Charlie.

As her thoughts drifted, she became aware that it was no great secret that she was attracted to Willy Wonka. After all, he had an artist's soul, as well as a sort of magic that could take hold of anyone's imagination. There were so many things about him that somehow managed to keep her a mental captive to his brand of genius. It was as though she was in a hypnotic trance from the man's capacity of creating extraordinary things. At that moment, Clara came to realize that she had managed to look beyond the man's eccentricities in order to see the kind and gentle soul that dwelled beneath it.

Closing her eyes briefly, she remembered the night before when he had rested his hands on her shoulders and she had leaned into his embrace. It was one of the most tender moments she had ever experienced with anyone. Now, try as she might, she could not let go of the fact that she had felt a rush of happiness standing there several centimeters away from the safe haven of the chocolatier's embrace.

I barely know him and yet there is something about him that draws me in, she thought. Of course while she felt as though she was being swept away in the flood of emotion, her conscience seemed be denying her the right to these things. Accusing words now seemed to be encasing her. Words like: 'Less than a year has passed and you are already fawning over another man'.

This internal conflict left her to wonder who she should really listen to? The voice that told her to remember her deceased husband or the one that said that she had sacrificed herself enough. She wanted to be happy again, and through her time in this place, she realized that she was not happy, not in the least.

Clara Bucket was emotionally and physically exhausted.

For the last ten months, she had not only worked an excessive amount, but her pay was terrible and her hands rough from the scalding water she had constantly subjected them to. Although she now felt beautiful in the green dressing gown, she knew that her face felt much older than thirty-five.

As the rest of the world began to spin away with her, her last thoughts were focused on where precisely her son was. Yet, even with that concern looming over her, she knew that if Willy Wonka was with Charlie, that the boy was safe.

With that knowledge in mind, she drifted off to sleep, her legs still dangling over the side of the bed.


	20. Chapter 19: Humilty and Imperfections

_Enjoy. Corrected per Nefra's suggestion about 'minutes' vs. 'moments'. Thanks for catching that, or should I say 'mercí'?_

_Edited on February 12, 2008, the Chapter 18 was read through with no corrections._

* * *

**Chapter 19: Humility and Imperfections**

As the door opened to 'The Enchanted Forest' about half an hour later, Wonka and Charlie entered the room.

"Is she here, Mr. Wonka?" Charlie asked all the while keeping his voice low. There was unmistakable concern laced in his words.

"The note that Mr. Wilkenson left in my office said that she was in 'The Enchanted Forest', and that's this room," the chocolatier said as the light from the outside hallway drifted into the room and the candy maker nodded. "Yes, she must be here, her shawl is hanging on the rack."

As they stepped further into the room, Wonka noticed that Clara was lying on her back across the bed, her legs hanging casually over the edge of it, her eyes closed, and she was fast asleep. "Charlie, I found her, she's asleep."

"She must have been really tired," Charlie said once he followed the chocolatier over to where his mother lay.

"I can imagine that she was," he said. "Why don't we try and make her a bit more comfortable and then I'll take you to your room."

"I get my own room?" Charlie's eyes lit up.

"Of course, unless you want to stay here?" He asked, his voice filled with sarcasm.

"I know it sounds stupid, but I never had my own room," the boy confessed.

"Then I think that it's about time you did," Wonka said as he leaned over and picked Clara's body up in his arms. "Go ahead and pull the covers back, then we can tuck her in. If she sleeps like this the whole night, she will wake in the morning feeling dreadfully."

Charlie nodded and started to pull the covers back. He watched as the chocolatier laid Clara amidst the pillows. As soon as he had released her, the boy pulled the covers over his mother and leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Good night, Mom."

He backed away from the bed and watched as Wonka reached over and brushed a lock of her hair out from in front of her face. "Sweet dreams, Clara."

As they came out of the room, Wonka closed the door behind them. He then started to lead Charlie back down the hall to the room that was next door to his mother's, this one had a sign on it that was in the same shape as a highway marker from America. The words, 'Route 66' were embossed on it.

"This is great," Charlie said as he reached up and touched the sign. "Do all your rooms have themes?"

"Some do, I love creating things like this, it motivates me to make different kinds of candy," he said honestly. "Why don't you go in?"

The chocolatier's motivating words encouraged Charlie to open the door and enter the room. The first thing he saw was unlike his mother's forest green room, his room had a desert landscape and various kinds of cars. A children's toy race track lined one wall, and seemed to go all the way around the room, various cars placed on the two lane tracks.

Charlie looked around the room and shook his head in profound disbelief.

"How do you like it?" Wonka asked.

"It's great," Charlie said.

Instead of speaking, the chocolatier looked at the clock on the wall. It read that it was close to midnight and there was no denying that he was tired. "Listen, we can continue talking tomorrow when you get back from school."

"I was thinking of skipping," Charlie admitted, his happy gaze still taking in the room.

Wonka shook his head. "You'll do no such thing."

"Oh come on, it's not every day that something really great happens like this," the boy objected but watched as the chocolatier started walking towards the door. "Mr. Wonka?"

"Yes?" He stopped and turned around.

"I know you felt really awful earlier, but thanks for coming and finding me tonight," the boy said. "I don't want to think about what would have happened if you hadn't have been there."

"Nor do I, Charlie," he said smiling, but instead of leaving, he remained standing for several moments.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm still not feeling that great, but it's better than it was when we were outside," he said. "Thank you for asking."

"You're my friend, it's only right," he said.

The chocolatier smiled. "Then as your friend, would you do me a favor, Charlie?"

"Sure."

"I'd prefer it if you'd call me Willy from now on," he said. "As friends we should be on the same level, right."

Charlie looked into the earnest eyes of the chocolatier, but after several moments, the boy nodded. "OK, Willy."

"Well, now that that's settled, I think I should leave you to get some sleep," Wonka said. "I'm glad you like the room."

"Yeah, I do, it's really great," Charlie said.

"Well, good night, then," he said and walked towards the door and opened it. Once he had stepped out into the hallway, he closed it behind him.

Contrary to not feeling very well, Wonka suddenly felt a small smile tugging at his lips. The chocolatier had found his protégé and life could not have been better even if he wanted it to be. Of course, the momentary cold that seemed to have gripped him was a small price to pay for everything that had happened.

He started to make his way down the hallway, but with each step he took, the chocolatier could feel the dizziness starting to take hold of him once again. It had been a long day, and it was no question that he was happy that it had finally come to a close.

He continued on his way, but abruptly stopped when his coughing suddenly filled the empty corridor.

Leaning up against the wall, he reached up and felt his face, his fingers touching the perspiration that now beaded his forehead. After the rush of adrenaline that he had subjected himself to throughout much of the evening, he was now feeling the results of his actions and knew instinctively that he was now quite sick.

He should not have walked home in the rain. Now, he knew that he was not going to make it back to his office, much less his room feeling the way he presently did.

Stopping in front of a door, he rested his hands against the wall, and lowered his head. What he did not notice was that where he had stopped led into the room called 'The Enchanted Forest'. After several seconds, his energy gave out and he leaned up against the wall, all the while trying to hold his spinning head in his hands.

After what felt like an eternity, but had, in fact, only been several minutes, the door opened and Clara stepped out into the hallway to see that he was on the floor and leaning up against the wall.

"Willy?" She whispered as she crouched down beside him, her hand coming to rest against his face. "Oh my God, you're burning up."

"I thought you were asleep," he managed as a somewhat uncomfortable greeting.

"I woke up to get a drink of water and then I heard you coughing." She wrapped her arm around him and tried to help him to stand up. "You need to lie down."

"I was on my way back to my room," he managed. "Once I had talked to Charlie I had intended on going to sleep."

"How far is your room from here?" She asked curiously.

"It's pretty far, from my office, it would take about five minutes with the Wonkavator as it is clear on the other side of the factory," he said.

She reached for his arm and when she felt the soft velvet of his coat beneath her hand, she looked into his pale blue eyes. "Then let me help you."

Instead of objecting, he allowed her to help him to his feet. He realized that all the months of working in the laundry had rendered her stronger and more fit than even he could have anticipated. With her arm around him, they entered the room. She closed the door and led him over to the sofa. Once she helped him to sit down, she took a deep breath. "I'll be right back," she said and disappeared inside the bathroom.

Seconds later, he heard water running, but then saw her emerge from the room with a small porcelain bowl in her hands as well as a washcloth draped over the side. She approached where he was sitting and made herself comfortable beside him. Reaching over, she dipped the washcloth into the bowl before wringing it out. Taking it, she placed the cold, compress against one side of his face.

Without thinking, the chocolatier cringed and backed away from her. "Clara, that's cold," he barked at her as his entire body began to shudder.

"I know, but I didn't make it that cold, it's just that your face is too warm from the fever and we need to get your temperature down. Now, just hold still," she instructed firmly, her voice filled with understanding. Just before placing the compress to his forehead, she carefully moved the stray curly locks of his hair gently out from in front of his face. "It's alright, just relax."

As he once more felt the coolness of the cloth, he cringed, all the while not even noticing that she took off his hat and placed it nearby. In another fluid like motion, she grabbed a pillow and placed it on her lap. As soon as she had done this, she wrapped her arm around him and pulled him down so that he could lay atop the softness of the pillow. Looking down at him, she smiled reassuringly as she continued to move the cloth over his face.

"You do that well," he said, his gaze following her movements. He watched as she returned it to the bowl, dipped it in, and wrung it out.

She laughed lightly as she continued to wipe the cloth over his face. "I'm a mother, Willy, I take care of my son when he's sick, or look out for my parents or George and Georgina when they need me. It's something that I've learned to do over time."

Wonka smiled and despite his feeling rather poorly, he could not help but appreciate the gentleness of her administrations. Closing his eyes, he allowed his body to relax as the coolness of the washcloth was wiping his face. "I don't remember my mother," he mumbled.

"That must be very difficult for you," she said compassionately.

"Maybe," he murmured as his eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep. What seemed like seconds, but was in fact twenty minutes, he wearily opened his eyes to see her still sitting with him, the cloth was now unmoving on his forehead. "Clara?" He spoke, which brought her out of her reverie.

"I'm still here, Willy."

"Who takes care of you when you're sick?" He asked.

She smiled weakly as she returned her attention to the cloth and started moving it around his face once more. "No one, I have make sure I don't get sick."

"But haven't you?" He asked. "It would seem to me that it could very easily happen to you."

"I suppose it could, but as things stand, I really can't afford to get sick," she said honestly. "I have too many responsibilities."

"So do I," he said. "Like tomorrow, I have to write letters and get shipments out."

"We're very much alike, it would seem," She said gently. "I mean; the world doesn't stop for people like us to get off, does it?"

"Perhaps not," he said as he reached up and captured her hand as it continued to wipe the cloth over his face. He slowly started to sit up. "I think I'll be alright now."

"Are you sure?" She asked, the concern that she carried towards him was laced in her words.

"Yes, I'll go straight back to my room and go to sleep," he said.

"You won't try to put in all that extra work, will you?" She said as she helped him to stand up.

Once he was on his feet, he looked at her, a smirk suddenly lining his face. "Is that what you might do?" He asked as he picked up his hat.

"Probably," she smiled as she reached over and touched his face once again. When his skin felt cool beneath her touch, she nodded in satisfaction. "You're not warm anymore, so the cold compresses helped. If you feel hot again, apply another compress to your forehead. If it gets really bad, we will have to do that with your legs."

"My legs?"

"Yes, it's a home cure, it helps to reduce dangerously high fevers," she said. "As you know, we can't afford to buy medication, so we use what we have."

Instead of immediately speaking, he took her hand in both of his. "I'll be fine, Clara, thank you for your concern."

Offering him a reciprocating nod, she watched as he walked over to the door. He turned around and smiled before stepping out into the hallway.


	21. Chapter 20: Of Love and Literature

_Here's the latest update for this. I have to get this completely done by Friday, because I do have another story I want to start posting. I like to keep two stories going, not more, because it seems too much for all of you, specifically if the stories are not one shots._

_The Christmas story has turned into two stories, and now I have to decide which idea I will go with first and which one I will put off until next year. That's the breaks when one has an imagination that doesn't seem ready to take a pause._

_Oh well, thanks to my reviewers, I'm really glad you are enjoying the story and taking the time to review. I was getting worried that people had lost interest in this, and I had so much fun writing it. Now, for our young catalyst to take over._

_Enjoy, and please keep me posted on this. YaYa, found and corrected mistake._

_Edited on February 12, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 20: Of Love and Literature**

The days following Wonka's illness, things began to get better for all of them. The chocolatier was in relatively high spirits, while Clara continued her normal routine, which consisted of a commute between the factory, her workplace, and the small house on the outskirts of town.

For his part, Charlie started to grow accustomed being Wonka's beneficiary. He actually liked the idea, although he felt somewhat intimidated about being on the same level with the man he had admired for a number of years. It felt nice to have a friend like this, and through their newly discovered friendship, their spirits were considerably heightened.

It was now the weekend and Charlie had arranged to meet Violet for an afternoon of exploring the factory. It seemed like a great idea, and even the secretive candy maker appeared to be alright with the idea of the two children having a chance to enjoy it without being inundated with work.

As Charlie came outside of the factory grounds, he made his way around the side wall and could see the girl waiting at the gate. It looked as though she was glancing around the area nervously and Charlie figured that the first thing he would have to do is tell her about Thomas Wilkenson. He came closer and called out her name. "Violet."

Upon hearing this, she turned and smiled when she saw him coming closer to where she was standing. As soon as he had reached her, he returned the gesture.

"I'm glad it's you and not Slugworth," she said as she released a pent up breath. She did not add that she was somewhat surprised that they were meeting there and not at his house. "When your mom called this morning, she told me that I should come here and meet you, I was a bit surprised."

"I figured, I'm only sorry that I haven't been in contact with you during the last week. Between what has been going on and school, I haven't had any time. Violet, Willy made me his apprentice and we spent all last week working after school. The first thing we had to do was help the poor Oompa Loompas put the golden goose room back into order after Hurricane Veruca hit," Charlie said as they started to walk away from the gate and made their way around the side of the factory grounds.

"Hurricane Veruca," Violet laughed. "Who came up with that one?"

"Mr. Wilkenson," Charlie said. "I have to tell you about him, because Willy thought that it might be a good idea."

"Who is he?"

"He's the guy that we thought was Slugworth," Charlie said.

"He wasn't Mr. Slugworth?" Violet asked.

"No, he works for Willy. He's not a bad guy, just a little strange, but once you get past that, then he's alright,"

Violet took a deep breath. "Still, I should be mad at Mr. Wonka for sending him after us. That wasn't fair."

"Maybe not, but he didn't hurt anyone," Charlie said rationally. "But if you want to talk to Willy about it, I think he would listen."

Violet took a deep breath, her eyes misting over. "You're very lucky, Charlie."

"I don't know if it's luck," he said. "I just think it's convenience, since I live here in town. Makes it easier for me to make the transition."

"No, it's luck, you're a good person and you deserve it. I would never have expected Mr. Wonka to give me such a gift," she said. "But I don't think I would want to leave my home either. I have friends and family there. Besides, Cornelia needs me to keep her out of trouble."

"Your best friend?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah," she said, but her expression grew thoughtful. "You know, it's funny that you and Mr. Wonka would want me around now that he's found you."

"He's your friend as much as mine, Violet," he said. "He wouldn't have dropped you like a hot potato…"

"…or oversized blueberry?" She asked giggling.

"Or that," Charlie said. "Look, let's just get inside and you'll see for yourself."

Violet nodded, but looked at him and yawned. "You'd think that I'd be over the jetlag by now, wouldn't you?"

"Are you still tired from the juicing?" He asked.

"No, I'm fine now," she said. "Aside from having absolutely no desire to chew gum."

Charlie took a deep breath as they reached the darkened building that was adjacent to the factory.

"Where are we going?" She eventually asked as he dug in his pocket and pulled out a strangely shaped key. When she saw it, she took a deep breath. "What is that?"

"Not so loud," he said nervously, but started to look around. "Willy gave it to me on Monday before I left for school. He said it's a secret, so keep your voice down."

"Sorry," the girl said. "But, Charlie, this building gives me the creeps."

"I know, that's what I told him the first time I was here, but he said that it was the only way to get in and out without being seen," he said. Once the girl nodded, he stuck the key into the lock and turned it. "Come on," he said once the door opened and they entered a hallway.

Once they were safely through, he closed and locked the door behind them. They made their way down the hall as she started to look around. "How do you know your way around here?" She asked. "All these corridors look the same."

Before he could answer, a door opened and Wonka stepped out into the hallway, and this nearly caused the girl to jump out of her skin.

"Hello Violet, how are you feeling?" He asked.

"I'm fine, as long as you don't count the heart attack you just about gave me. I have a bone to pick with you, about a certain worker of yours who likes to scare people to death," She said crossly, her arms she folded across her chest.

"You told her about Mr. Wilkenson, I hear," Wonka said as he covered his left ear.

Charlie nodded as the chocolatier turned and looked at Violet.

"Rest assured, Violet, you won't have to worry about Slugworth again," he said.

"For your sake, I'd better not," she said. "That wasn't very nice you know."

Wonka took a deep breath. "I assure you that it was not intentional," he said.

"Maybe that's why he said, 'little surprises around every corner, but nothing dangerous' when we first met him," Charlie said with a casual shrug of her shoulders.

Violet blushed, but looked first to Charlie and then back over at the candy maker. "OK, then I'll forgive you on one condition."

"What might that be?" He asked. "A lifetime supply of chocolate perhaps?"

"No, that you don't scare me again like that," she said. "Agreed?"

"Agreed, I'll see about having someone send me a bear bell from Canada," he smirked. "Does that meet with your approval?"

As soon as she nodded, the chocolatier led the two children along the corridor but abruptly stopped when he noticed that coming down the hall in the opposite direction was Clara. She had emerged from her room and it looked as though she was leaving to go to work.

"I was hoping I'd find you," she offered as a greeting, her body fidgeting from one foot to the other as they reached her. "I have to be at work by four and am rather turned around."

"It happens," Wonka said, a slight smile shadowing his face, but he started to dig haphazardly in his pocket for the set of keys for the side door.

Violet watched the two adults through bemused brown eyes as Charlie turned and looked at her. "Willy always shows her how to get out because she almost got lost two days ago," he whispered.

Instead of speaking, the girl watched as the chocolatier stopped digging in his waistcoat pocket and had turned his attention to his pants pocket. As he dug around trying to find them, Clara continued to glance nervously about, her eyes darting from the clock on the wall to the doorways, and back to the tiled floor.

"I-I don't mean to interrupt what you all have planned for today, but I couldn't leave on my own, I still need help navigating…" her voice trailed off. Her gaze seemed to be all over the place except at the chocolatier who had finally managed to find what he was searching for and was now picking apart the keys that hung from the large metal ring.

After several seconds, he turned back to the two kids. "Wait here," he instructed and started to lead Clara back down the hall in the direction of the door that led outside.

Once the chocolatier and Clara were both gone, Violet began to giggle.

"What's so funny?" Charlie asked.

"Can't you tell?" She shot back between giggles.

"Tell what?"

"Your mom likes Mr. Wonka," Violet whispered, but continued to laugh despite herself. "Didn't you see how she was looking at him…or better yet, how she _wasn't _looking at him? God, that's so romantic."

"Violet, that's not romantic, it's disgusting." Charlie said. "Besides, why would my mom like Willy?"

"I don't know, he's kind of cute for an older guy. At least once you get past the mad-scientist hairdo of his," she continued to chuckle.

"I dare you to say that in front of him," Charlie smirked.

"No way," Violet shook her head. "But really, why do grownups even like each other anyway? Why does my mom even like my dad?"

"If you ask me, I think you've read way too many romance books," Charlie said bluntly.

"I have not. Just look at the way she's all nervous and wringing her hands together around him. Then she started to stammer and repeat herself. That's a sure sign of someone who has it bad."

"Your mom must be a psychologist, because I didn't see anything out of the ordinary in my mom," he said. "She's acting like she always does."

"What about the way he was behaving? I mean; he was looking for a set of keys on a key ring that is the size of Texas. Charlie, any person could find a key ring that size in their pocket, and they don't have to dig through everything in their possession to do it, either." Her words emerged smug. After taking a deep breath, she continued. "I don't know about you, but for a second, I thought he was going to pass out or something. That's not normal for a guy who seems to know the answer to everything like Mr. Wonka usually does."

"What are you getting at?" Charlie asked. "Are you trying to say that Willy likes my mother as much as you think my mom might like him?"

"Well, yeah," Violet rubbed her hands together. "When he started doing that thing with the keys, I immediately started thinking about Monty Willoughby in that soap opera my mother's always watching. It's called 'In Search of the Future'. Have you ever seen it?"

"No thankfully not," Charlie groaned. "My family generally only watches the news programs."

"Oh you're missing out," Violet said, a slight swoon in her voice. "Monty is probably the most handsome hero on television. Anyway, he's really shy like someone we know," she nudged Charlie but cast a quick glance in the direction that Clara and Wonka had gone off in. "Anyway, he's the son of a rich landowner who is head over heels in love with Vanessa Livegood, the poor farmer's daughter."

"Sounds dreadful," Charlie said firmly.

"It's not dreadful Charlie, it's romantic," Violet said fiercely. "Didn't you ever like a girl?"

"I actually preferred one of Mr. Turkentine's chemistry pop quizzes to girls," Charlie said honestly.

"Oh come on, haven't you ever read 'Romeo and Juliet' or seen that play 'West Side Story'?" Violet asked. It was obvious that she was starting to get stars in her eyes at the mere prospect of Charlie's mother and Willy Wonka actually being interested in one another. "After all, it's the stuff that good romances are made of. You have poor girl from the other side of town, and the rich, sophisticated man wooing her…" Her voice drifted off and she began to fan herself as though about to hyperventilate.

"You're insane," Charlie said.

"One day you won't think so," she said firmly.

"OK, let's just say you're right and my mom does like him, that doesn't mean anything," Charlie said. "My mom would never go after him, at least not in that way."

"Why not? If she likes him, what's stopping her?" Violet asked.

"A lot of things," Charlie said sadly. "We've only known Willy for about a week, and my mom hasn't made any friends outside of our family since my dad died. All she does is work, come home, make dinner, and go to bed. That's her life."

"That's sad," she said bluntly.

"I know, but I can't change it, and to even try would probably upset everyone anyway," Charlie said. "The thing is, if she could get into another relationship then I would say OK; but she hasn't indicated that she even wants to. Deep down inside, I know that she loved my dad, but he's gone and no sacrifice is going to bring him back."

"You sound like my mom now," she said.

"No, I've just been listening to Grandpa Joe, because he said he has been trying to tell her that for months now."

"Charlie, how would you feel if she and Mr. Wonka got together?" Violet asked.

"If they liked each other, then I wouldn't care, as long as they're happy," he said. "I just hope that nothing bad happens to them, because then I'd feel like I'm in the middle."

"Maybe it's all the more reason that we should try and get them together," Violet said. "I'm leaving to fly home in three days, but if I can at least do something nice for Mr. Wonka and your mom, then I would try."

"Why?"

"I don't know, but have you noticed how much alike they are? He's a recluse, she's a loner, it's perfect."

"Yeah, and then they both get mad at us for trying to play Cupid," Charlie shivered. "Violet, things are finally getting better now that Willy's not mad at me anymore. Do you think that I want to give him another reason to yell at me?"

"This isn't about you, you know, this is about him and your mom," she said, her expression earnest. "Look, the point is, if we don't do something to help them get together, then you're going to have to deal with things being awkward between them probably until you turn eighteen. Who wants to have that? Believe me, Charlie; there's something strange going on around this factory, and it's not just Everlasting Gobstoppers."

"Maybe, but do you honestly think that Willy would be ready for two kids to mess about with his private life like this? I mean; he's doing good letting us back in his factory," Charlie whispered. "I just don't want to blow it."

"I know, but it doesn't hurt to ask," Violet said as they both looked up and saw Wonka at the end of the hallway. He was now making his way back towards them. "Look, he's coming back, maybe you can ask him why he was acting so strangely…well, more strange than usual anyway," she giggled.

"Forget it, I'm not going to push my luck," Charlie said firmly.

"Then I will," Violet said, but waited until the chocolatier had reached them.

As he did and noticed that Violet was smiling up at him, his curiosity got the better of him. "What are you smiling at?" He asked.

"Nothing," she said, her brown eyes shining.

"Well, something has you happy," he then looked at Charlie. "Are you going to tell me why Violet's smiling like a Cheshire cat?"

"Oh it's nothing, Mr. Wonka," Violet said, her voice emerging almost in a catlike purr. "We were just discussing 'Romeo and Juliet'. I had to read it for English class just before my dad and I flew out here. Are you familiar with it?"

"Er, yes, I am, actually," he began. "Let's see: 'My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite'."

"So what did you think of the story?" She pressed, all the while intentionally ignoring his rendering of the quotation.

"It's human tragedy, why do you ask?" He asked, and for a second Charlie thought that the chocolatier had trapped her in a corner.

"Oh, no reason, I just have been thinking about that topic of unrequited love," she smiled innocently. "Have you ever been in love, Mr. Wonka?"

"No, have you?" He shot back.

Violet shook her head. "No, I don't think so, but I'm only twelve. Besides, I asked you first, and you're a lot older than me, and probably wiser and more experienced. I figured that you'd understand that sort of thing."

"Yes, well if I were you, I wouldn't waste my time worrying about me so much," he said with his typical smirk. "Now then, shall we?"

Charlie watched as Violet started to follow the candy maker. It was more than clear that the chocolatier seemed to be holding his own against Violet's onslaught of questions. In the recesses of Charlie's mind, he was grateful that he wasn't the object of her curiosity. This girl obviously did not know the meaning of the word 'subtle'.

* * *

As they reached the room that Wonka called 'Summer Solstice', he held the door open so Violet could go inside. As she did, and before Charlie could even follow her, the candy maker reached out and touched Charlie's arm, thus holding him back. "Charlie, wait a minute, I need to ask you something."

"What is it, Willy?" Charlie asked innocently.

"What was that all about?" He asked.

"I wasn't really paying attention," the boy managed but looked away. It was clear that he was fearful that his answers would upset Wonka.

For his part, the candy maker seemed perfectly aware of the boy's unspoken concerns. Instead of coming out and telling him that he would not be upset with him, he inhaled sharply and then released it in a pent up breath. "Charlie, just tell me what is going on. Something happened when I left you two to take your mother to the exit."

"What do you mean?" He responded to the question with one of his own.

"I mean, why is Violet asking me these questions about 'unrequited love'? She was close to biting my head off about Mr. Wilkenson before Clara showed up. Now she's acting very strange. She must have said something to you," Wonka said.

"I swear, she didn't say all that much, Willy," Charlie hedged, but when the chocolatier's gaze did not falter, he exhaled slowly. "I don't know, she's a girl, and girls are weird."

"Charlie, just tell me what she said," he said, his voice resigned. "I know that you and she spoke while I was gone. I can also tell that you're keeping something from me."

The boy lowered his head. "You won't get mad?"

"No, I won't get mad," the chocolatier responded his words emerging as an exhalation of breath. "Charlie, I would really be grateful if you could tell me something that would make this not so confusing."

"OK," the boy relented. "Violet seems to think that you like my mom."

"Like your mom?" Wonka parroted. "Charlie, that seems rather obvious. Of course, I like your mother, she's a very nice lady."

"No, I don't mean that you just like her, I mean that you; really like her. Violet thinks that you're romantically attracted to her." As the words, 'romantically attracted' emerged from him, Wonka could not get over the overt distaste that the boy seemed to have about this particular topic. "It doesn't make any sense, but Violet thinks that maybe my mom likes you, too."

"Are you meaning, something like 'Romeo and Juliet'? Is that why Violet asked me all those questions?" He asked.

"Yeah, she says that you're showing the signs of being in love," Charlie said. "It's weird, I know."

Wonka took a deep breath as unnerved confusion lined his face. It would perhaps not be wise for him to broach this topic with the boy, but he could not get over the look that crossed Charlie's face. Instead of speaking, he inhaled and exhaled slowly, his behavior now unnerving to the boy who stood before him.

"Willy, a-are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Charlie, thanks for telling me the truth," he said. Still holding the door open, he waved the boy into the room. As he entered and went over to Violet, the chocolatier stepped into the room and found himself sitting beneath the same tree Charlie had sat beneath the night he had told him about his inheriting the factory.

This time, instead of the boy being surprised, the chocolatier now carried an unmistakable look of shock on his handsome face.


	22. Chapter 21: Of Knights and White Horses

_Here's the next update on this. I suppose I am ready to wrap this story up, and there are still several more chapters to go before it's completely wrapped up. I will hopefully get a chapter of 'Once Like You' up tomorrow. 'In Another's Eyes' is on hold for a tiny bit while I work on the Christmas one. I hope to have one more update on that before I leave, but will have to see._

_Hope that you enjoy this latest installment. I do intend to finish all stories that I start here, so not to worry, it's just this time of year is especially busy for us here. The good thing is I have a laptop and will take my writing with me to write some over the holidays._

_Please read and review, with my thanks and virtual Christmas cookies and homemade fudge._

_Edited on February 13, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 21: Of Knights and White Horses**

Later that same night, Clara returned to the factory after getting off work. She did not expect her body to be as exhausted as it was, and wondered if she had caught the same cold that Willy Wonka had suffered from during the previous week.

As she reached the locked door, she raised her hand and started to knock softly on it, her eyes closing slightly, but her stance remained somewhat stable.

Soon the door opened and she was left looking up at the chocolatier. "Hi," she managed to speak as he offered his arm to her and helped to guide her through the door and into the factory.

"You look tired," he remarked.

"There was a large shipment today, two local restaurants needed their tablecloths done, and then I was to do the usual work from the hotel where Violet and her father are staying," she said with a slight yawn. "How was your day?"

"It was fine, I showed the children a few more rooms and Violet headed back to the hotel before it got dark," he said. "Charlie's really learning to navigate his way around here, which is helpful."

"He got that from his father, not from me," she said, a slight smile crossing her face. After several minutes, she spoke, her voice soft. "Willy?"

"Yes?"

"I really don't know how to thank you for everything you've done…I mean for Charlie." She smiled up at him, her eyes filled with shyness.

"He deserves it, but I only wish that there was something that I could do for you. You work so hard, and I hear you don't make very much at the job that you have. I am constantly amazed by your diligence."

"I'm not complaining, Willy, and neither should you," she said smiling at him as they reached the door to her room. "W-would you like to come in?" She asked.

"Of course," he said smiling.

They slowly entered the room and he closed the door behind them. The darkened room somehow lulled him into his own contemplations. He liked this woman, yet, he knew that as the mother of his apprentice, that it would not be wise for him to pursue anything with her. He could not deny the attraction he felt towards her, and Violet's blunt words and Charlie's confidence in him left his thoughts literally whirling about. It had been less than a year since her husband had passed away, and perhaps pushing the issue could prove hazardous.

He watched as she went over to the sofa and sat down, her hands nervously brushing through her hair. "It's been a week and I still cannot get over how lovely this room is," she began to speak, her voice laced in appreciation.

"I'm glad you like it," he said. "I am rather partial to it myself."

"I can understand why, it's like being in the middle of paradise," she said. "You know, when I was a little girl, my mother would tell me stories about Robin Hood and Maid Marian. She made me believe that somehow there was a fairy tale that could come true and change everything." She wrapped her arms around herself and lowered her head. "It's silly isn't it? A grown woman like me wanting to believe in something like that. Life isn't really like that, is it?"

"Maybe happily ever after does exist," he said. "Did you ever hear the story about the man who suddenly got everything he ever wanted?"

"No," she said.

"He did live happily ever after, Clara," the chocolatier smiled.

She looked into the depths of his eyes and gave him a feeble smile. "Is life really like that, Willy? Can one event suddenly change everything?"

"It would depend on what the event is," he said. "Perhaps I ought to tell you more about what I told Charlie that evening after I found him."

She nodded. "I remember when Mr. Wilkenson told us that you had found Charlie and that he was alright. I was so relieved. The truth is, after my dad came back to the house, you left so quickly that I thought for a moment that you were afraid of him."

"Perhaps I was more nervous about another confrontation than anything else," he said. "I had no intention of making you worry." Without thinking about what he was doing, he reached over and rested his hand on her shoulder.

Instead of speaking, she raised her hand so that it covered his. After several seconds, she moved her hand away from his and looked down at her lap. Her heart was beating loudly in her chest, and she was almost certain that he could hear it. Guilt washed over her, but she kept her head lowered so he would not see that her face suddenly felt flushed.

"Clara, are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," she whispered. Her head remained lowered and all he could see was her shaking it with uncertainty.

"I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable," he said as he eased his hand out from under hers. "It was never my intention."

She nodded, all the while feeling the tears stinging her eyes. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying. It would have been easy for her to completely fall apart right there in front of him, but her realistic nature seemed to prevent it. "It's just that, I can't help what I feel, but I also can't forget that Clarence and I were married for twelve years."

"You must have loved him very much," he said.

"I did, but then he got sick, and died," she raised her head and looked at him. "Willy, I knew that Charlie needed his father, yet, he was gone and there was nothing I could do to bring him back. Dad even said that I should just let myself feel what I feel, and that the rest would come at will. Everyone around me could probably tell that I had spent all week trying to avoid you because I was afraid."

"Afraid of me?"

"No, not of you, I was just afraid, because I always have to think about Charlie and how what I do would no doubt leave an impact on him," she said.

"Clara," he said, his hand reaching over and touching one side of her face. "You have sacrificed so much for so many, but you have also given up things for the sake of a memory. Sometimes, in all of that, you have to think about yourself. Charlie knows of the sacrifices that you have made. I read about your family in the paper before Charlie and your father even came to the factory. I have been so impressed with the level of understanding your son has demonstrated. Do you think that he would be angry with you for allowing yourself to move on?"

"I don't know, I don't think he would be, but it wasn't until recently that I started pondering where my life has been going and what I really wanted." She looked down at her hands and noticed that they were dried and calloused from the work she had subjected them to.

"What is it that you really want, Clara?"

"I want to know if what I feel is real or in my mind," she took a deep breath. "Willy, how does one know what they really want?"

"Violet asked me the same question the day after the Golden Ticket tour happened," he said smiling, his blue eyes shining with bemusement. "I told her if when you wake in the morning it's the first thing you think about and when go to sleep at night, it's the last thing you think about, then it is generally meant to be."

Clara smiled and nodded, but did not say that since she had met him, that it was he whom she had been thinking about. Is there such a thing as love at first sight? She asked herself. Does that knight in shining armor really exist, or is it possible that she was trying to fool herself into believing in fairy tales?

The chocolatier turned and faced her, his blue eyes filled with what looked to be insecurity, but there was still a sense of kindness that dwelled in their depths. "I should tell you what I told Charlie. There's a great deal more to all of this than just him becoming my apprentice."

Clara took a deep breath. "What?"

"The truth is, I am giving the factory to your son," Wonka confessed. "That was the big secret that I wanted to tell you the night we met, but I couldn't. You see, I promised myself that the person I would tell first, would be the child whom I had chosen. The only thing is, I really had anticipated telling him this in a different way. I didn't anticipate getting angry or yelling at him."

"Y-you mean, you're giving Charlie all of this?" She asked, and as though emphasizing this point, she waved her hand about.

He nodded. "A while ago, I realized that one day I will not be able to continue doing this work, that trying to go on forever would be a very long time and if this factory were to continue as I anticipated, then I needed a successor."

"But you're not that old, Willy. Why would you think about this now?" she asked.

"I have always been someone who planned what I would do, but seeing as I have no family, and no children, I have come to realize that instead of this place falling into the wrong hands, I had to do something that would prevent it," he said. "I wanted to leave it to someone whom I trust with my secrets and ideas, but also someone who would continue to run it as I had hoped, and not try to change everything. Grownups tend to change things to suit them, children accept them and try not to modify them."

Clara nodded as she looked at him, the surprise evident in her eyes, but after several minutes, she looked away from him, her hands wringing against one another. Here was a man that she was beginning to feel a strong draw towards and his attention was only on her son.

It was all the better since Charlie probably needed a father figure anyway, and Willy Wonka seemed to have that sort of influence over him. More so than anything else, Clara trusted the chocolatier and she knew that Charlie did as well.

Instead of speaking, she got up and walked over to the window, her hand reaching out and touching the bark of one of the trees. "It's a very generous gift."

"It's not a gift, inasmuch as it is his willingness to help me," Wonka said honestly as he walked over to where she stood. "Is that alright, Clara? Would you have any objection about my doing this?"

"Why would I object?" She asked.

"You are the boy's mother, and you have the right to be concerned for his well being," he said. "I would never wish for you to view my intentions as a means of forcing my will on either of you."

"I don't," she whispered, but closed her eyes, her fingers still lightly stroking the bark. "When I was a little girl I used to dream about a place like this. I guess that dream has been fulfilled through my son. I should be happy for him, but you know I kind of envy him."

"You do?" He reached her and rested his hand on her shoulder, thus causing her to turn around.

"I used to believe in magic, Willy…" her voice trailed. "…It was a long time ago..."

"…Let me guess," he interrupted her. "You suddenly stopped believing that there stood the potential of there being more out there for you out than just doing someone else's laundry."

"That's a blunt way of putting it," she said as she looked at him, the grief and sadness suddenly filling her.

"What can I do to make you feel better?" He asked as one of his hands began to brush her hair out from in front of her face.

She shook her head, but suddenly felt his arms wrapping around her. She could feel her head coming to rest on his shoulder. Instead of contemplating what was happening or why it was even happening, she allowed herself to return the embrace, her weight now resting against him. "Willy," she whispered his name, her eyes closing and the tears streaming from beneath them.

Without thinking about what he was doing, he moved his hand so that he could touch her face. The tears left her skin moist, and he felt himself smearing them away. He wanted to kiss her, and was so close to giving into that urge. Abruptly, as though touching fire, he moved his hand away. In a fluid movement, he backed away from her, his actions leaving her feeling chilled.

"Clara, I should go," he said. "It's late."

"Did I do something wrong?" She asked weakly.

"No, it is simply not my inclination to do something that could be considered incorrect," he said nervously.

"I understand," she said as she lowered her head.

"No, I don't think you do," he said. "If I were to do what my impulses are telling me, then it would be wrong and unfair of me. I cannot do that."

She raised her head and looked at him. "What would you do?"

"All questions must be submitted in writing," he managed to utter before walking slowly towards the door.

Suddenly, she remembered the night when they had met and how he had made that same comment in relation to his feeling awkward in certain situations. Somehow these two things were starting to mirror one another. Instead of allowing it to continue, she started to follow him. "Willy?"

"Y-yes?" He stopped and turned around.

"Forgive me?" She asked.

"Whatever for?"

"Making you feel uncomfortable," she said. "I do like you, but I also realized just now that you're not just a kind-hearted person; you're also a true gentleman."

"Good night, Clara," he said softly before leaving the room.

Once he had come out into the hallway and closed the door, he noticed almost immediately that his palms were sweating and his heartbeat was racing.

What in the world is happening to me? He asked himself, but it would take some time before he would know for certain.


	23. Chapter 22: In Silence, He Awaits

_Please read and review._

_Edited on February 13, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 22: In Silence, He Awaits**

The following evening, Clara walked slowly from her workplace back in the direction of the small house where she and her family lived. She had opted to not return to the factory, but instead found herself walking with slow and deliberate steps through the cemetery where her husband was buried. She was starting to feel ill, but soon came to the realization that it must have been because of her exposure to the elements after being safely away from them as a guest in the factory.

Closing her eyes, she could feel the tears as they streamed from beneath her eyes. The sky overhead was now dark and the stars that dotted across it reminded her of the 'Enchanted Forest' where she had spent the previous nights.

"Oh Clarence what should I do?" She whispered, the sounds of her voice echoing through the stillness of the area. "I can't keep living in the past, I have to find a life for myself. Now, I think I'm falling in love with Willy and I'm trying so hard not to. Part of me feels as though there is no way I can help it. He's so amazingly kind, generous, and he wants to do things for Charlie that you're not here to do."

She closed her eyes as she continued to speak, her words filled with the extent of her emotion. "Last night, I nearly allowed myself get swept away. I was sitting in this beautiful room that reminded me of the renaissance fairs that we used to attend back when we were in secondary school. Everything felt so real, and it was almost as though I was there for some reason. I mean; I really could reach out and touch the trees. The only thing missing was the cool breeze that blew all around me. This place was beautiful, and I felt guilty for allowing myself to enjoy it." She closed her eyes all the while feeling the bitter wind that wafted against her.

"Forgive me for seeming disloyal to your memory, but these were some of the most beautiful things I had ever seen," she confessed. With the words still hanging in the air, she sneezed and began to grope around for a tissue. "The truth is, I had completely forgotten what it meant to search for beauty in such things. I had spent every day since your death just going through my days alone and miserable. I had to make cabbage water for our family all the while knowing that they deserved better. I somehow believed that the only thing that would help me make it from one day to the next was to be strong, but I don't know how to be strong anymore. At least not for myself."

As she was speaking, she did not see that Willy Wonka had entered the graveyard and was walking towards where her voice was emerging. She did not see the relief that crossed his face, but after several seconds, he stopped walking and simply listened to the heartbreak that emerged in her words.

"What did being strong ever get me anyway?"

Once she had finished blowing her nose, she returned the tissue to her pocket. Instead of trying to find another, she used the sleeve of her dress to wipe the remaining tears that streamed down her cheeks. The wind had grown more chilly and she shivered. The shawl she wore to combat the air seemed all the thinner still, and she tried to pull it even tighter against herself.

"Clarence, I'm so sorry, but I have to allow myself to feel what I feel, and hope that these feelings won't hurt anyone. I'm falling in love…" her words emerged as a whisper, the sounds of them filling Wonka and leaving him to stare down at the young woman who had seated herself on the ground next to the grave. She was in love, but with whom? Could it be with him? Instead of focusing on that aspect, he simply listened as she continued to speak.

"…It doesn't mean that I will ever stop feeling what I feel for you, but I've grieved your death long enough. I don't think you really want me to be sad forever because you're not here."

She covered her face with her hands and allowed the tears to fall, her arms to wrapping around her body, her hold tight as she sat staring as the light ricocheted off the damp gravestone. She began to tremble from the cold, and to Willy Wonka, it looked as though the woman was somehow trying to punish herself for being honest.

Approaching, he removed the cloak he wore and got down on his knees behind her and carefully wrapped the warm object around her shoulders, the woman literally jumping upon feeling the gentleness of his touch behind her.

She turned around and stared up at him, her eyes taking in his form as it sat silhouetted against the light. "Willy?" She whispered his name. "W-what are you doing here?"

He offered a gentle smile, but began to speak, his voice emerging in almost scolding undertones. "Did you honestly think that I would forget all about you and allow you to stay outside on such a cold night? Clara, you could catch your death out here."

"I d-didn't expect you to come looking for me," she stammered. "It's not safe…"

"…Perhaps not, but I think that it is a good thing that I did," he said as he touched her face with his fingertips. "Just answer one question for me."

"What?" She asked.

"Are you trying to make Charlie a complete orphan?" He asked, his voice sounding much more cross than he intended. "What were you thinking, dear lady?"

She shook her head in denial. "I wasn't trying to do anything. I just needed some time to myself to think about everything," she said weakly. "It still doesn't explain what you're doing here."

"Fair enough," the chocolatier conceded. "Charlie was worried about you, and I will admit quite openly that I was as well."

"You were?" She asked.

"Yes, after we had returned to the hotel to drop Violet off, Charlie suggested that we stop by the laundry and pick you up. Of course, when we got there and didn't find you, we returned to your house. One of Charlie's grandparents said that you had left and they concluded that this was the only place that you might have gone to. Charlie told me how Violet had found him here, and that he would often come here to think or contemplate things. I figured that you would do the same since you're his mother and you are both very much alike. At any rate, while Charlie was helping his grandparents, I came out here looking for you."

She took a deep breath, her arms still holding tightly to one another. Shivering, she looked into the chocolatier's eyes. "I didn't intend to make you worry."

"I know that, but if you don't mind my saying so, it seems rather obvious that you are accustomed to dealing with things on your own," he said, but cast a glance down at Clarence Bucket's gravestone. He reached over and placed both hands on her shoulders. "He must have been a very special person to make you this confused and unhappy."

"He was," she said, but kept her head lowered.

"It must have been hard for you to accustom yourself to being alone. Somehow, I don't think you were ever really able to," he said gently.

"Maybe not, but I had to find a way. Clarence is not here anymore. I had to resolve myself to being alone."

"But my dear lady, you're not alone. You have a family who loves you."

Clara looked up at him, but spoke, her voice weary. "You know, for a minute there, I thought you were going to tell me that you were a part of that."

Instead of immediately speaking, Wonka nodded as he turned her gently around so that she could look up at him. "Just because you decide to move on doesn't mean that you're supposed to forget." He brushed a gentle hand through her hair until she felt his warm palm against one side of her face. "There's nothing wrong with anything that you have done, dear lady," he whispered.

Clara closed her eyes and nodded, the tears streaming down over her face and meshing against his fingers. She could feel herself smiling despite the guilt that seemed to be eating away at the core of her being.

As the chocolatier finished wiping the tears from her face, he put a gentle arm around her shoulder, helped her to stand up, and started to lead her away. "Now tell me where it is I should escort you to."

Clara cast a glance back towards the grave, but feeling dizzy, she stopped, her head coming to rest in her hands. "I don't know," she whispered. "Everything is suddenly starting to spin out of control…"

Without contemplating what he was doing, he carefully picked her up in his arms and started to carry her towards the gate. As he walked, he looked down at her. "You didn't tell me where?" He whispered, a trace of playfulness now etched in his voice.

"Take me wherever you wish, Willy," she whispered as she allowed her body to completely relax in his arms. Without any warning, she allowed her arms to wind their way around him and hold tightly to him. This action, if anything, showed the chocolatier that Clara Bucket completely trusted him.

He slowly walked towards the gate, but managed to open and exit the graveyard with her still wrapped securely in his arms. As he walked, her tired body lay nestled up against him, but soon she drifted out of consciousness.

* * *

About ten minutes later, Wonka arrived at the Bucket house. He had not intended on bringing her there, but it was closer than the factory, and walking through the city streets with an unconscious woman in his arms, seemed a bit too conspicuous for his tastes. It would also be that, which would attract more attention than he intended. He tapped with the toe of his shoe against the closed door and when it opened, he was left looking into the eyes of Charlie's Grandpa Joe.

"Let us in, please," he began. "Your daughter needs warmth."

"Are you the one intending on providing it?" Joe asked, his voice taking on a sarcastic edge.

Ignoring the older man's provoking words, Wonka brought her into the room and over to the bed that was hers. He laid her on it and looked at Charlie. "Do you have another blanket?" He asked.

"Just the one on my bed," the boy responded, but hastened to retrieve it. He returned to his mother's side and watched as Wonka carefully covered her. "Is she going to be OK?"

"I think she's just tired, but she could have gotten sick after helping me," he said and looked at Joe. "How many hours does she usually work in a day?"

"Before the tour, she would sometimes work as many as twelve, why?" Joe responded after thinking about the question for several moments.

"It shows," the chocolatier said as he touched her face and soon moved his hands to her neck and felt where her glands were. "I don't know if she's come down with a flu or something, but she's got a fever and the combination of the weather and this drafty house are not helping." He looked at Charlie. "Did you tell them about my suggestion?"

"Yes, I mentioned it after you left to go look for Mom," Charlie said. Before he could continue, he leaned over and whispered into Wonka's healthy ear. "Grandpa George and Grandma Georgina don't want to leave."

"I see," the chocolatier mused. "Then we'll leave without them, that's all we can do."

"But Mom won't," Charlie objected. "Willy, she'll insist on staying here and taking care of them."

"She takes care of everyone, but does anyone here take care of her?"

"We take care of each other," Joe said, his voice filled with annoyance.

"I see that, but if she remains here and tries to help take care of you in this state, then she could risk her own health in the process," the chocolatier said solemnly. "No one should expect her to do that. I would never force my will on anyone, but Charlie, your mother will probably not get better if she has to keep working and taking care of everyone here instead of looking out for herself."

"What are you proposing?" Grandpa Joe asked.

"I'm _suggesting_ that we all return to the factory so that we can properly take care of her," he said. As he spoke he cast a glance towards Clara's in-laws. "I know that you don't want to leave, but right now we have to consider what is in the best interest of Clara and not what is easiest for you."

"He's right," Josephine spoke up. "We've already lost Clarence, do we really want to risk losing Clara as well? I do not want my grandson twice orphaned in the span of one year's time." As she spoke, she pushed the covers aside and started to get to her feet. As if by impulse, the boy went over to his grandmother tried to help her stay standing. "I'm alright, Charlie," she said as she smiled at the boy. "But, I think it's about time for George and Georgina to consider again what all this means." She looked at Wonka, her eyes never faltering. "I think you should take my daughter with you. Charlie, you and Joe stay here and help us get ready to move. If we have to leave this place, then I will trust that this young man will take care of all of us."

"Are you certain about that?" Wonka looked at Grandma Josephine.

"I've never been more certain in my life, young man. You care for my daughter and grandson, that is very clear," she smiled at him. "Now, be careful getting back, and don't you worry about us, we're old, but we're not completely incapable."

The chocolatier chuckled. "Yes, Ma'am," he said but looked at Charlie. "You have your key?"

"Yes," the boy nodded.

"Alright, then I will see you very soon," he said as he leaned over and started to pick up the boy's mother, blankets and all.

As he walked to the door with her now in his arms, Charlie approached. "Willy?"

"Yes, Charlie, what is it?"

"I just wanted you to know that if you really do like my mother like Violet implied the other day, then maybe you should go ahead and tell her," he said. "She's not going to tell you unless you say something first."

Wonka gave the boy an emphatic nod, but swept out of the house with his precious cargo wrapped snugly in his arms. Now, it no longer mattered who would see him carrying her.


	24. Chapter 23: To Tell the Truth

_Hello everyone, first of all my heartfelt thanks to Nefra for coming aboard this story and giving me such nice reviews. I'll try to address some of the questions that were raised as I think they are important._

_**Did Mr. Wonka sent Wilkenson to see what was up with the light?**__ Yes, Willy spotted the two children standing outside the gates and asked Wilkenson to go and get them. With the reporters, he was afraid that he would capture too much attention. That was his rationale for having sent him, but later realized that he should have gone himself. Sorry if that wasn't clear, but that was the motivation._

_**Charlie operating the Wonkavator...Is it really named like that in this movie? **__Yes, in the 1971 movie, the Great Glass Elevator was dubbed the 'Wonkavator'. That bit was directly borrowed from the movie. In the book I have about the making of the movie, they also referred to it as 'Mr. Wonka's flying machine'._

_**I only now wondered if you'd maybe prefer me to read on and then let a bigger review? **__You guys can review it however you see fit. I have no objection for the small reviews, I'm just grateful to each person who takes the time to review. Just do whatever comes naturally._

_**But I suppose he won't distribute newspaper the next day, or will he? **__Although I didn't add this in the story, I think Mr. Jopeck got the drift that Charlie will not be delivering papers, since he's sort of in the papers. _

_**I'm glad to see some more of Violet. Will she stay in contact with Charlie after going home? **__Charlie and Violet will be discussing this in the next chapter, stay tuned. I have every intention of getting Violet's role back into the story, and actually, after this chapter, she'll be the main part of the story from here on out._

_Hope that answers all the questions that were raised. I corrected the 'Minute' problem in Chapter 19 (post 20). Thanks for catching that._

_Now, please enjoy this latest installment and let me know what you think._

* * *

**Chapter 23: To Tell the Truth**

En route to the factory, Clara began to stir, her body shifting in Wonka's arms. As she became fully aware of who was carrying her, she smiled. In the lamplight, she could see the chocolatier's curly hair and gentle features. "You can put me down, I'm alright," she spoke, her voice weary. Instead of responding to these words, he continued to walk, his steps brusque and defined.

Feeling as though he was ignoring her, she began to struggle in his arms, hoping that he would put her down. "Willy?" She spoke his name.

Instead of releasing her, he tightened his hold, but stopped and looked down at her, his blue eyes filled with gentility. "You passed out at the graveyard, I don't think it would be prudent for me to force you to try and walk in this state," he said softly, but although these words emerged slowly, he started to walk again, his pace as it was before.

"I'm fine," she argued, all the while noticing an almost shy stance in him.

"I'm not so sure about that," he said. "We're almost to the factory and when we get there, I will personally see to it that you are well taken care of."

Sighing in defeat, she said nothing, instead looked up at him. His face looked more determined than she had ever seen, his jaw-line even and his breathing steady. She closed her eyes, but spoke, her voice consumed with shyness. "Do you always try to be the knight in shining armor, Willy?"

"Not usually, but I do try to return the kindness that others bestow on me," he said as he reached the building. "I have to put you down so I can get to my keys. Promise me you won't fall over or anything."

She nodded as she felt herself being put back on her feet. She watched as he dug in his pocket, produced the key and opened the door. He then reached for her hand and led her inside before turning around, closing, and locking the door. "Where are Charlie and the others?" She eventually spoke, her head bowing and she gingerly touched her forehead and felt the heat from the fever warming her fingers.

"They're back at your house packing to come here. Don't worry about them, they will be arriving here tomorrow some time. For now, though, you need to rest," he said.

"But, there's still so much I need to do, I have to be at work tomorrow at six," she said and coughed.

"You're not going to work, at least not until you're healthy," he said firmly. "You need rest, and your boss will have to understand."

"But he won't," she whispered.

"Then you should not work there anymore," he said firmly. "Clara, your father said that you have been known to work twelve hour shifts. If you keep going like this, you're going to make yourself sicker than you already are. You passed out at your husband's grave earlier tonight. If I hadn't have come to look for you, you'd have slept outside, and could have ended up with pneumonia."

She closed her eyes and shuddered as the familiar word washed over her. "But, I have to work, my family…" her voice trailed and she shook her head.

"…Your family is going to be just fine," he said as he reached over and touched her face, the heat from her skin warming his, otherwise, cold hand. "Let me help you just as you helped me, dear lady."

Clara leaned into the coolness of his touch. "Alright, you win," she relented. "I'll do as you say."

"I'm not trying to help you as a means of winning an argument, I just don't want anything else to happen to you," he said.

She nodded and continued to follow him down the hallway. When they reached the 'Enchanted Forest', he opened the door and watched as she started to walk into the room.

After several minutes, she stopped and turned around. "Willy?"

"Yes?"

"I know it seems wrong of me to ask, but could you stay with me?" She asked.

The chocolatier nodded and followed her into the room. Once the door had closed, she started rubbing her hands through her hair. Instead of speaking, he took her hand and guided her over to the sofa and watched as she practically collapsed against it, her body weary. The blankets and cloak were still wrapped snugly around her and even with them, she began to shiver uncontrollably.

As opposed to conversation, he silently went to retrieve the same cloth and bowl that she had used to help him the previous week. When he came out, he placed the bowl on the table, went over to the bed, and grabbed the blanket that covered it. Once he had pulled it off, he brought it over to her and shaking it out, he covered her with it.

"Thank you," she smiled weakly as he seated himself next to her, his hands now reaching for her ponytail. Carefully, he began to unwind the rubber band that held it tied back. As the hair softly fell against her shoulders, he tried to move it away from her face. "Did you ever notice how everything feels so sudden," she whispered, but watched wearily as he grabbed the cloth and wrung it out.

"Perhaps," he said, but instead of focusing on that, he carefully began to wipe her face with the cloth.

She cringed and he smiled gently at her. "I know you're cold, dear lady," he spoke, his words laced with kindness and he used them the divert her focus. "You know it feels rather nice for me to be able to return the favor."

As these words emerged, he could not help but contemplate the words Charlie had told him at their house. The boy had no objections to his pursuing his mother. Looking at the woman, he found himself smiling, but also releasing a pent up breath. "Clara?"

She opened her tired eyes and looked up at him.

"Can I ask you something?" He asked.

"What happened to 'all questions must be submitted in writing'?" She asked a small smile lining her face, but her eyes were regarding him with a form of openness that seemed to take him by surprise.

For a moment, both Clara and Wonka were swallowed up in silence, but eventually she looked into the blue eyes of the chocolatier and nodded. This was the indication to him that she welcomed his inquiry.

"I want to be honest with you," he said. "I cannot be that way if I block you with pretense." Instead of speaking, he returned the cloth, but reached for one of her hands. Once he had captured it, he held it gently pressed between both of his.

"You have," she whispered. "Haven't you?"

"Not entirely," he shook his head. "Do you remember last night when I told you that my impulses were telling me to do something, but I said that I couldn't?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Would you hold it against me…" his voice trailed.

"…If you did what you had intended?" She asked.

"Yes." He stared at her for several moments, but watched as she slowly shook her head.

Hesitating, he reached over and touched her cheek, his fingertips brushing against one side of her warm face. Using his thumb, he used his hand to cradle her face. Moving his fingers, he touched her lips, the light touch causing goose bumps to cascade over her arms.

"Willy…" she whispered his name.

"What is it, Clara?" He whispered, as he inched closer to her and she could suddenly feel his gentle breath against her cheek. His breath smelled like a strange mixture of mint and chocolate candy. She inhaled the fragrance, her body somehow starting to tingle from the overwhelming sensation that his presence had on her.

"You make me forget the sadness and pain," she whispered.

As soon as these words had emerged, she could suddenly feel his lips capturing hers, the taste of his kiss filling her with lightness and joy. As the gentle pressure engulfed her, she could feel as his hands continued to stroke either side of her face.

Without thinking of what she was doing, she allowed her lips to part and abruptly felt the kiss intensify.

The chocolatier continued to caress her face as he drew back and smiled gently down at her. "I really do care for you, Clara," he whispered.

Clara reached over and touched the curly hair that framed his face. "I care for you, too, Willy. I was just scared."

"Of me?" He asked.

"No, of not being good enough, of the past," she whispered. "When we first met, the thoughts going through my mind were about how handsome and sophisticated you are, and how…" she lowered her head. "…I know it seems silly."

"You must never worry, dear lady, you will always be good enough," he said firmly. "It's silly to think otherwise. It is people like you and Charlie who have made me happy. You don't expect more from me than I am able to give. At the same time, you let me do things to help, simple things." He cast a quick glance towards the bowl of water and reached for the cloth and wrung it out. "Like this." He brushed the cloth gently over her face. "How many other people would allow me the opportunity to do this for them?"

She shivered from beneath the dampness of the cloth. "I don't know," emerged from her when she saw his eyes looking down at her. He replaced the cloth in the bowl and using one of his hands, he began to stroke his fingertips lightly over her face, his thumb touching lightly against her lips.

As he felt her lightly kissing his finger, he spoke, his voice soft. "Clara, would you stay? I mean; make the factory your home."

"My son is here, and he loves this place," she said smiling slightly.

"I mean; by your own accord," he said.

"Are you saying that independently of what my son decides to do, you want me here?" She asked, her voice cracking.

"Yes, very much so," he smiled and nodded.

She raised her arm wearily and touched his face with her fingertips. "Willy," she breathed his name. "It was you who made me believe in fairy tales all over again…"

"…They do live happily ever after, Clara," he said as a soft chuckle emerged.

Instead of speaking, she simply nodded and allowed herself to once more be enfolded in his embrace. The last things she could remembered before drifting off to sleep was feeling his lips pressing lightly against hers and then the lightness of being picked up and carried.

* * *

When she opened her eyes again, she was lying beneath the covers, the room was dark, and Wonka was seated in a chair right next to the bed. The chocolatier appeared to be keeping silent vigil next to her, his mouth covered by his clasped hands.

"Willy?" She whispered his name, thus causing his head to raise. "What happened?"

"You fell asleep and I brought you to bed," he said.

"What time is it?"

"About half past one. You've been asleep for about an hour," he said. "Try and go back to sleep, now."

"What will you do?" She whispered softly.

"I'm staying right here and will make sure that you don't get any sicker than you already are," he said.

"But, you can't sleep sitting up," she whispered.

"It won't be the first time, and it probably won't be the last, either," he said with a small smile lining his face. Without thinking about what he was doing, he leaned over and brushed a lock of her hair out from in front of her face. "Besides, if worse comes to worse, I can always sleep on the sofa. It folds out into a bed, and it is rather comfortable."

Clara reached out her hand towards him, her eyes closing somewhat. When she felt his hand taking hers, she spoke. "Stay with me."

"I'm right here, Clara," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

She stared at the ceiling for several minutes, but then tilted her head so that she could look at him. "Willy?"

"Yes, dear lady," he whispered.

"Do you remember when you asked me if anyone ever took care of me when I got sick?" She asked.

"Yes," he nodded. "You didn't really respond, but something tells me that you've always been independently minded in that regard."

"Perhaps," she whispered. "I do remember a time though, it was right after Charlie was born."

"Was that when you had someone to take care of you?"

She shook her head. "No, it was a time when I was sick, and was right after all of us moved in to live in the same house together. Clarence was working shift work and didn't know that I had been sick. I was doing my best to conceal it, and so I had gone to work late in the evening, his boss calling to say that he would have to pull a double shift. I don't remember very much except that it was the middle of February and one of the coldest days of the year. I figured that it could be cured with hot tea. I suppose I realized during that time that I was being forced to take care of myself."

"In other words, no one was really there for you," he said.

She shook her head. "I remember spending this one night more afraid than I had ever been in my life. Outside the window, the snow was falling, my entire body felt weak and strange." She closed her eyes. "I didn't want anyone close to me to experience being alone like I felt that night."

"Did you ever tell anyone about that experience?" He asked.

"Who would I have said? I was alone, and I had come to accept that whenever I got sick, I would be alone to fight it. That's why I tried to always be there for everyone else. I was so afraid of what would happen if I didn't." She closed her eyes. "Whenever someone gets sick, I always seem to think back on that night."

"It doesn't make you feel very happy, does it?" He asked gently. "Is that why you kept going back to your family's house each day after you got off work? You seemed to always return there in order to check on them and make certain that your parents and in-laws were safe, even though it was not doing you any favors."

"I had to, they need me," she whispered as she covered her face with her hand.

"Perhaps right now you should say that you need them," he said as he gently ran his hand through her hair. "You don't have to sacrifice everything, Clara. Let them make some concessions to you."

"As you have done for us," she smiled up at him.

"'The habit of giving only enhances the desire to give'," he said smiling. "Do you know who said that?"

"Yes, you did, just now," she smiled weakly despite her throbbing head.

He chuckled, "No, dear lady, it was Walt Whitman." He reached for the blankets and pulled them closer so that they would cover her. "Now, try and sleep, my dear, I will be right here if you need me."

Wordlessly, Clara nodded, but heeding his gentle suggestion, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.


	25. Chapter 24: Violet's Final Hours

_So, there are going to be three more installments to this, this chapter, the next and then the epilogue._

_I want to thank the nice people for giving this story a chance and coming along with it. I have enjoyed writing it and hope to see all of you back for my next story, or for the chapters of 'In Another's Eyes', which is going to be seriously worked on over Christmas._

_As for the question that was raised in the reviews: __**is the factory very far from the Bucket's house? **__Since Charlie was running home from the factory, and yes, it seemed a good distance from their house, I am guesstimating that it was probably about ten minutes walk from the house to the factory. Since Clara is not doing well during the last chapter, I am thinking that our hero is really working on adrenaline with this aside from considering her physical stamina. In some cases, carrying someone such a distance could give anyone, even the amazing chocolatier, a hernia, but considering that Clara is rather thin (and perhaps malnourished), I'm sort of pushing things a trifle there. I do tend to write things realistic, but I guess that bit slipped by me. Sorry...but it's really too late to change it about._

_At any rate, enjoy the latest update and thanks for the reviews._

_Edited on February 15, 2008._

* * *

**Chapter 24: Violet's Final Hours**

Two days later, the flu was happily a thing of the past and Clara was once more healthy. As promised, Wonka had taken the time off to nurse her back to health. Charlie began to see positive changes in his mother's behavior through the loving assistance rendered by the chocolatier.

Of course, Charlie did not say anything to either of them about what he had observed, but he was internally glad that Violet had catalyzed so many good things in their lives before she would be returning home. The days had passed quickly and Charlie was quite sad that his friend would be leaving. He also knew that he would miss her terribly.

On the morning of her scheduled departure, Violet had received a note from Charlie that she should come to the factory in order to say goodbye. In three hours time she was due back at the hotel so that they could return home to Miles City, Montana.

Violet was not quite certain that she liked the idea of leaving, simply because she had made some real friends here, but she also knew that she was looking forward to seeing Cornelia again. There was a lot she wanted to tell her best friend, specifically that she had given up chewing gum.

As she stood outside the factory gates, she stared up at the smokestacks and smiled slightly. Charlie would be alright, he was now living at the factory, and Mr. Wonka was no longer angry at him.

She inhaled the crisp air and released it slowly. There was still no sign of Charlie and she figured that her friend was just running behind the time. She looked down at her watch, it indicated that Charlie was only five minutes late. It was strange that when one anticipated something good that was about to happen, time always seemed to crawl.

After several minutes of waiting, a strange sound suddenly filled her ears and she raised her head and gasped when she saw the Great Glass Wonkavator descending from the air and landing some ten meters from where she was waiting.

When the door opened, she heard someone calling her name and recognized it to be Charlie. Slowly, she started walking towards them, her eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. "Hi," she said, a bright smile now shadowed across her face.

"Climb on in," Wonka offered, his voice filled with cordial undertones. "We need to take off before we attract too much attention."

Violet nodded and once she had come inside, she watched as he closed the door and motioned towards one of the seats. "Sit down and hold on tight."

Heeding his suggestion, she sat down and began to look around the small closet sized compartment. "What is this thing?"

"This is the Great Glass Wonkavator," the chocolatier said proudly as he pressed a button and they found themselves instantly airborne.

"Another of your great inventions, Mr. Wonka?" She asked somewhat nervously.

"Perhaps, but you have nothing to be afraid of. I won't let anything happen to you," he smiled. "How much time do you have before you have to be back?"

"Three hours, why?" She asked.

"That should be enough time," the chocolatier mused, but looked at Charlie, who simply shrugged his shoulders.

"Where are we going?" She asked.

"Have you ever been to the seaside?" He asked.

"No," she shook her head.

"Well, I thought that we could go there and have lunch and then we could bring you back to the hotel."

"The ocean is something that I never thought I would get to see," she said. "There aren't too many of them in Montana, you know."

"Did you ever dream about it?" He asked.

"Sure, I dreamed about a lot of things," she said. "I just never really imagined that they could come true."

"Sometimes, a dream is all it takes," the chocolatier said smiling.

"For people like you, maybe," she said. "Normal people like us…"

"…I don't know if that's necessarily true anymore, Violet," Charlie said honestly. "I mean; maybe we aren't as normal as we think. After all, you did find a Golden Ticket."

The girl shrugged her shoulders but looked at him. "Maybe." She looked at Wonka, but what she saw in his eyes was an unhidden joy that she had never seen before when she would look at him.

"The power that you hold in your hands is far more inspiring than you can imagine," he said. "You catalyzed a great many things, Violet."

She bit down on her lower lip. "I accomplished making you feel uncomfortable when I asked all those questions. I was starting to wonder if that was why I didn't see you after we saw the Summer Solstice room."

Wonka began to chuckle. "That's not the reason."

"It's not?"

"No, not by any stretch of the imagination. Violet, you made me realize that I was feeling something for Charlie's mother that I didn't consciously realize," the chocolatier confessed.

"You mean; you and Mrs. Bucket?" Violet asked, but instead of looking at Wonka, she was now staring transfixed at Charlie. "He and your mom?"

"Yeah," Charlie grinned. "And Mom hasn't been this happy since before my father got sick. She's like a new person now, and it's probably because you mentioned it that day after we met her in the hallway back at the factory."

"She just looked like she was attracted to you was all," she said as she cast a wary glance towards the chocolatier. "I didn't mean to make you feel awkward, Mr. Wonka."

"It's alright," he said. "But, do you see all the good that you catalyzed now? It's rather extraordinary when you stop and think about all the empowering things that you said and did. You truly gave something to all of us, Violet."

The girl smiled. "I guess that's better than being a blueberry, isn't it?"

"By far," he said. Seconds later, the Wonkavator landed and Violet got to see the ocean for the first time in her life. He watched as she disembarked the glass enclosed structure and stepped out on the soft grass.

"It's beautiful," she whispered as she stared out at the waves as they washed up along the shoreline. She eventually turned and looked at Wonka and Charlie as they stood side by side and watched as she beheld the beauty that stretched out before her. Eventually, she spoke, her question directed at the chocolatier. "H-how'd you know I wanted to see this?"

"The night that you were lying in the factory and the Oompa Loompas were doing the juicing, I was sitting by your bed as you slept and heard you talking in your sleep."

"I never talk in my sleep," Violet objected.

"Oh, yes you do, and I heard you quite well, too. You see, my dear girl, even though I am deaf in one ear, I could hear you quite adequately," he said, a casual smirk lining his features.

"What did I say?" She asked.

"Well, you said that you would love to see the ocean one day," he said. "I never mentioned it to you as I figured that you would view it as an intrusion. Of course, I wanted to ask your father about it, but he seemed preoccupied so I didn't. Instead, I decided that I wanted to give you something as a way of saying thank you for all that you did." He turned to Charlie. "Why don't you grab the blanket we brought and we can spread it out on the ground?"

Charlie nodded and hastened off to fulfill the request as Wonka turned back to face Violet. "There's something else I wanted to tell you."

"What?"

"Well, I know that there is not too much time left, but Violet, Charlie and I want to stay in touch with you, and I know that it is rather complicating you being so far away," he said.

"I was thinking about the same thing," she said as she looked down at the ground. "It kind of makes me sad to think about it. I mean; as weird as you act sometimes, I think I'm still going to miss you."

Wonka took a deep breath. "That's why I suggested that we write to one another. Of course I would be sending you the chocolate that I promised on your Golden Ticket, but letters are also a nice way to stay in touch."

"I think I'd like the letters over the chocolate," she said honestly.

He smiled but nodded as Charlie joined them and they spread out the blanket. Violet sat down on it and stretched herself out, her gaze on the sky. After several minutes, she turned and looked at the chocolatier. "I still have a question."

"What's that?" Wonka asked.

"What about the real Slugworth?" Violet asked. "I mean; is it possible for one of your competitors to try and contact us?"

"The thought scares you?" Wonka asked. When she nodded, he continued speaking. "If anyone bothers you about the Golden Ticket and the tour, then I want you to contact me immediately, OK?"

"How?" She asked.

He handed her a slip of paper. "This has the number to my office. Only call when you require my immediate help."

"You mean; I can't call you just to talk?" She asked.

Charlie smiled at her. "We can talk every week," he began. "But Willy's a busy guy, he's got tons of work to do."

Wonka nodded. "When you talk to Charlie, I will try to be around sometime so we can talk as well. Does that sound acceptable to you?"

She nodded. "It's kind of nice to have friends that I don't always have to compete against."

Charlie handed her a sandwich and smiled as she accepted it. "It's just great to have friends," he said.

"Mr. Wonka, what about the other kids? Will they get a chance like this?"

"I don't think they're ready for it," the candy maker said honestly. "They made their choices and they must live with the repercussions of their decisions. As far as anything physical, they returned home just fine."

"You didn't call them terrible," Charlie said.

"It's because they're not terrible, they're just children who had to contend with their own fallacies," he said. "All of this reminded me of my own. At any rate, you'll be glad to know that I did write to each of them asking them to consider this as a life lesson. I wanted them to know that I harbor no ill towards them and hope that they harbor none against me. I hope sincerely that they will one day understand that life is comprised of limits and that there are some actions that are simply not acceptable."

"Limits?" Violet looked at him. "I don't understand."

Wonka smiled brightly, but nodded at her. "Oh I think you do. You understand far more about them than you can imagine."

Violet smiled as her attention diverted and she was left looking back out across the ocean that stretched out before her. They remained seated there for the hour until it was time for the three of them to return to London.


	26. Chapter 25: Sweet Sorrow

_Here's your next chapter of this story._

_**Did the other kids get their lifetime supply too?**__ The answer to this question is no, the other children did not get the lifetime supply because they broke the rules, that's why the kids all had to sign the contract before the tour. I decided to focus on Violet here and even when she spoke to him, she noted that a friendship was more profound than the chocolate, which was indicative taht she changed. The other three children, I sort of implied that in time they might change. If there is a sequel to this, then I might touch on that, but I am not so keen on the idea of writing a horde of sequels._

_**I wonder if Wilkenson is still playing a part in the story. And what about Slugworth?** Slugworth will not go after the kids, but Willy was showing that he was conscientious about the possibilities, thus his speaking in that way. I think that in writing that, I wanted Willy to take these concerns seriously, and so he reacted accordingly._

_Hope you enjoy the last chapter, all that is left is the epilogue._

* * *

**Chapter 25: Sweet Sorrow**

As the Wonkavator landed in the factory courtyard, Violet climbed out. Behind her came Wonka, and then Charlie.

"You will see her back to the hotel?" Wonka asked his protégé as he discretely handed the boy a small wrapped package. "Give this to her before she leaves, but tell her not to open it until later, alright?"

Charlie nodded. "OK."

The chocolatier turned and looked down at the girl. She was standing and staring out across the courtyard towards the gate. Now the word 'Wonka' was turned around and from where they stood, the name could be read backwards. As she stared at it, she could feel the tears catching in her eyes, the sadness building up inside of her.

"I hate goodbyes," she eventually spoke, the tears now flowing freely.

"I know," Wonka said. "Perhaps it would be easier if you simply say, 'see you later'."

"That only helps if I know for certain that I will see you again," she said as she wiped the back of her hand over her brown eyes and smeared the tears away. "Will I?"

"You never know, but I think you will," he said as he dug in the pocket of his coat and handed her a fresh handkerchief.

Violet accepted the handkerchief and wiped the tears away. "What about my dad?"

"What about him?" Wonka asked. "He's going to do what he's going to do, Violet. But, the important thing is that I do trust you and I know that you will not do anything that could harm any of us."

"I won't," she whispered. "I couldn't."

He smiled as he drew her into his arms and held her tightly in his embrace. "I know, now go and have a safe journey home." He backed away, but not before reaching over and touching her face in very much the same manner as he had done the first moments when they had met. "Parting is such sweet sorrow."

Violet nodded but smiled weakly as the chocolatier disappeared inside and Charlie started to lead her towards the gate. As they stepped outside and found themselves beyond the factory gates, she looked at him. "I'm going to miss that crazy guy."

"I know, and I think he's going to miss you too," he said. "But, I'll keep you posted on how everything's going."

"Thanks, Charlie."

"Hey, it's what friends do," he shrugged his shoulders. "Besides, if it weren't for you, I'd probably have never given Willy the chance to be my friend and my mother would probably never have found someone who cared for her again. Maybe that's what all this was about."

Violet smiled. "Maybe, but it's still hard."

"I know, but think of it this way. If your dad manages to sell a bunch of those cars, then maybe he'll let you come back for a visit," Charlie said smiling. "It's funny, but I think Willy really had a great impact on all of us, he changed things for us that would otherwise not have been changed at all."

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"Well, aside from the obvious, maybe your dad will understand you better," he said. "Maybe the others will realize that Willy was trying all along to get them to stop what they were doing."

"Maybe," she said as they crossed the street that was adjacent to the hotel.

As they made their way up the walk to the front door, Violet could see that her father was standing in front of the structure, several suitcases surrounding his feet and he was waiting impatiently. "Violet baby, where have you been?" He asked, the words that emerged were laced with concern. This was something that surprised the girl and her brown eyes widened somewhat.

After several seconds and she had said nothing, Charlie nudged her, but then looked at her friend's father. "She was with me, Mr. Beauregarde," Charlie said. "You might say we went exploring."

"Exploring huh?" The car salesman said, a sarcastic glint in his eyes. "I've heard that one before."

"We didn't do anything wrong," Violet said. "Mr. Wonka was with us, and well, you might say that having him chaperone means that there are certain limits that we have to abide by."

Charlie nodded, but nearly choked on the suppressed laughter that got caught in his throat.

Violet turned and looked at him and smiled, but neither of them spoke. Instead, they refocused their attention back to Mr. Beauregarde, who seemed completely oblivious to the inside joke that had passed between the two children.

"Well, Violet, it's time for us to get going, we have to get to the airport and check in," he said. After several minutes, he turned and looked at Charlie. "Do you still have the Wonka candy from the tour?"

"No sir, I gave it back," Charlie said honestly.

"You gave it back?" Sam Beauregarde asked, his voice laced in skepticism.

"Yeah, it was the right thing to do, and besides, I think I'm better off for it," he said, but looked at Violet, a secret smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

They remained silent for several moments, but soon they saw a taxi approaching the driveway to the front of the hotel. "I guess this is it, huh?" He asked.

Violet looked at him, "I guess so."

Wordlessly, Charlie hugged her. As they drew back, he smiled. "Next time you visit, I'll buy the sandwiches."

Violet nodded. "OK." She bit down on her lip, and watched as the taxi stopped at the curb. While her father opened the trunk and began to stack suitcases inside, she turned and looked at Charlie. "I have to go."

"Have a good trip," Charlie said, but without thinking of what he was doing, he leaned over and kissed her cheek before handing her a small wrapped package. "Open it after you get to the airport, OK? It's a sort of going away present from Willy."

Violet nodded, but wordlessly climbed in the backseat of the car.

As they were driving away, Charlie waved, but after several minutes, he took a deep breath and started to make his way back in the direction of the factory.

It had definitely been an exhausting morning.

* * *

An hour later, Violet was sitting in a lounge at the airport waiting for her father to finish checking them in for their long flight back to Montana. She still held the small package from Wonka in her hand and she could not stop wondering what was inside.

Charlie had told her to wait until later to open it, but after sitting for several minutes, the curiosity got the better of her and she carefully began to open the package.

As she did, her father came over to her. "What's that, a little package from Charlie Bucket?"

"No, it's from Mr. Wonka," she said.

"Are you sure it won't blow up or something?" He asked sarcastically.

"I'm sure, Dad, because he's my friend," she said all the while ignoring the look that crossed her father's face. Seconds later, she pulled a small object from the package and began to giggle despite herself.

When Sam Beauregarde looked down at the object, his brow furrowed and he found himself regarding a small blueberry colored teddy bear that now rested in her hands. "I find that to be quite tactless."

"I think he's cute," Violet said as she continued to dig through the small box and found an envelope amidst the candy that the chocolatier had packed for her. "I'm going to call him Blueberry."

Mr. Beauregarde's eyes rolled, but what caught his attention was a small object that was somehow affixed to a piece of laminated paper.

"That's it," he reached out towards the candy, but Violet jerked it away from him.

"Daddy, this is mine," she said hotly as she began to read the note that was on the card:

_An Everlasting Gobstopper_

_Could demonstrate a candy that lasts_

_But, nothing lasts forever_

_Except for a friendship precious and real._

_From this day on, never forget_

_Our friendship shall continue_

_No matter the distance._

Beneath these words, was a small handwritten notation. "This is not a real Gobstopper, Violet, it is just a reminder to you of how it signifies the limitless boundaries of friendship. Never forget what you have given to it, and never believe that it holds no impact, because it does."

As she read the chocolatier's wavy signature at the bottom of the card, she could feel the tears welling from beneath her eyes. As the moisture escaped from beneath them, she looked at her father. "Dad?"

"What is it sweetheart?"

"I want to come back and see them again soon," she said.

"Aren't you afraid that Wonka'll turn you into a blueberry again?" He asked.

She shook her head. "Willy Wonka didn't turn me into anything, I did it myself, and you know what?"

"What?"

"If I had to do it over, I'd probably have not changed a thing…well, except the blueberry part, but the rest was perfect."

"So that means you don't want me to sue Willy Wonka, huh?"

"No duh," she giggled. "Let's just go home, and Dad…"

"…What baby?"

"The next time something happens, maybe you should hold my hand instead of a phone," she said as she got up and started to walk towards the security checkpoint, the contents of the box held tightly in her hands. When she turned around, she could see that her father was walking towards her, a look of contemplation now etched across the car salesman's face.


	27. Epilogue: A Bright Future

_Well folks, that's it. I hope that you will enjoy the last posting for yet another story. I have enjoyed writing this and hope that you enjoyed reading it. Since I have so many views on this, I will hope that now that the story is finished that you will give me some reviews on it. I always enjoy reading what people have to say about it, so please keep me posted on that._

Otherwise, I will hopefully be back next month with a brand new story (which hasn't even been started yet). Meanwhile, please stay tuned or check out some of my already posted stories. Whatever you decide, I wish you a happy holiday season.

_Thanks again for coming along for the ride. Enjoy._

_Edited on February 15, 2008._

* * *

**Epilogue: A Bright Future**

_Eight Months Later_

Willy Wonka was smiling when Charlie returned to the factory after getting out of school. It had been a long day but it was also the last day of school before summer holidays. For a number of weeks, Wonka and his young protégé had been anticipating their pending trip to see Violet Beauregarde via the Great Glass Wonkavator.

The chocolatier had been working for months on end trying to manage the perfect transportation for them to go and visit Violet, who was visiting Scotland during the summer months.

"Is everything ready?" Charlie asked.

"It's as ready as it will ever be," Wonka said smiling as he looked at the boy. "Your mother wants to come with us, but not to worry, you and Violet would have plenty of time together without us hanging over you like a couple of old dead geese."

"I, for one wasn't even thinking that, Willy," Charlie said, a smug smile still etched on his face. "You know that I think it's alright that you and Mom like hanging around together." As he was speaking, Clara came outside and found her son and Wonka standing next to the Wonkavator. The chocolatier's hand was resting against the transparent glass part of the flying machine. It was clear that he was immensely proud of his flying invention, but they could both tell that Clara was not as excited as her son was. She had, after all, never ridden in it and was looking more than a little bit agitated.

She greeted them with a smile, her eyes taking in the glass walls that surrounded the small enclosure before she looked at Wonka. "Is this thing safe; Willy?"

"My dear lady, I would never permit you to ride in it if it was not," he said, his voice etched in forced exasperation. He moved his hand from the invention and rested it on her shoulder, the touch causing her to slide into a half embrace with the chocolatier. "Now, shall I hold the door open for you?"

"Thank you, Willy," she said.

The candy maker proudly held the door open so that she could climb in and seat herself on one of the platforms. As soon as they were all seated, Charlie closed the door firmly behind him. "Can I press the buttons?" He asked.

"Of course, you know which ones to press?" The chocolatier asked.

Charlie nodded. "You have told me hundreds of times, I think I can remember," the boy said.

"Alright Charlie, this is your show then." He turned and looked at Clara, his arm still wrapped securely around her shoulder. "Hold on, my dear."

She did not have to be told twice. Instead of holding onto the bar that was near her seat, she wrapped her arms around Wonka and buried her face against his chest. As she felt them rising, she slowly opened her eyes and loosened her hold, the realization filling her that she truly did trust both him and her son.

Soon they were floating over the city in the direction of where Violet was staying. "How long will this take?" Clara asked.

"About half an hour," Wonka said smiling. "Charlie, did you send word to Violet to meet us when we get there?"

"Yes, I spoke to her this morning and she's really excited about seeing all of us again," Charlie said.

"I'm happy about seeing her again, too," Wonka said. "I just hope that this time she plays Cupid with you and not me."

Charlie stuck his tongue out. "That's disgusting, Willy."

"Not so much as you think," he said as he took Clara's hand in his and started planting feather light kisses on it.

"Don't get gross you guys," Charlie threatened. "It's bad enough when Violet starts talking about soap operas whenever I call to talk to her, but to witness this is just too much for me and I just had lunch."

Clara smiled as she looked at her son. "One day you might not say so. In fact, I predict that you will one day enjoy a young lady's attention."

Charlie shook his head. "I'd rather get eaten by a wangdoodle," he grumbled.

Wonka looked at him, horror shadowing his face. After about a second had passed, the candy maker was shaking his head adamantly. "Oh no you wouldn't," was all he said.

Instead of arguing with his mentor, Charlie returned his attention to the panel of buttons and started to prepare them for landing.

* * *

Violet was smiling when she left the house where she was living for the meeting with her friends. As she walked slowly towards the river's edge, she smiled as the wind wafted gently through her hair. It was a beautiful day, the sky was bluer than she had ever seen and the entire landscape was covered with flowers. Sweet scents of roses and carnations filled her, thus making her feel as though she had been thrown head first into a wonderful fairy tale.

It was no secret that on a day like this, she could still remember the day when she had been to the chocolate factory for the very first time. There was truly a special feeling that went along with that and although she was not living the happily ever after that Charlie was, she was happier than she had ever been in her life.

Since the blueberry incident, her relationship with her father had improved and she had become a lot less argumentative than she had been prior to the factory tour. She had given up gum, which proved a good thing, because her last dental visit had resulted in no cavities unlike what had happened in years gone by.

In one of her arms, she carried the small blueberry teddy bear and around her neck the fake Gobstopper hung from a small golden chain. She now wore the rainbow colored object every day and it reminded her of the time with her friends. Although she would never have admitted it to anyone, she had, more than once, tried to lick it, only to realize that it was made of a sturdy plastic material. This left her feeling rather silly, but since no one else knew, it served little, if no, point in mentioning it.

As she stood waiting, her thoughts began to drift as her attention shifted and she watched as the small familiar looking craft float through the air and began its dissention. Smiling, she watched as it grew larger and larger until it hovered over the ground and then landed with a small crunch on the grass. She smiled as the door opened and the three passengers disembarked.

Knowing that it was safe for her to come closer, she broke into a broad smile and ran towards the three of them, her brown eyes filled with joy as she felt herself engulfed in Clara's motherly embrace. "Mrs. Bucket," she called out excitedly. "I wasn't sure you were going to come."

"I've always wanted to visit this area," Clara said. "It seemed like a wonderful idea to come along to do so as well as to see you again. How have you been, Dear?"

"I'm great," Violet said smiling but soon found herself engulfed in Charlie's arms.

As her embrace with her friend ended, she was left staring up into the crystalline blue eyes of Willy Wonka. Not knowing what to say, she embraced him, the teddy bear suddenly catching his attention. "I named him Blueberry," she said, her voice filled with happiness. "He's been with me everywhere."

Wonka nodded and smiled as he touched her chin with the palm of his hand. "Charming…" he said with a soft chuckle and Violet's eyes lit up as they did the day they first met.

"It takes one to know one," she said with a soft giggle and the chocolatier himself began to laugh as well. As the laughter grew softer, she sat down on the ground and waited for him to seat himself beside her. "You know something, Mr. Wonka?"

"What's that?"

"Before you and the others came, I suddenly remembered how this was exactly what I have always wanted," she said, her eyes closing slightly. "I wanted to see you and Charlie again, but I wanted to tell you that meeting you changed me for the better." She reached in her pocket and pulled out a white piece of cloth. "And to think, it didn't start with the Everlasting Gobstopper."

"It didn't?"

"No," she shook her head, but handed him the handkerchief. When he accepted it, she continued, all the while her hand was motioning towards the small white piece of cloth. "It actually started with this"

"And all this time I thought it was Charlie's good deed and you who catalyzed everything," he said.

"No, Mr. Wonka, I think that all this time it was you," she said. "And you know what?"

"What?"

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "We all lived happily ever after."

Willy Wonka nodded and there was truly no denying that things had turned out perfectly for all four of them. As he sat next to Violet and caught up on eight months of news, he came to realize that it was not just one person or thing that created this feeling of joy, but a plethora of things that added together resulted in an ideal world. Perhaps, what had really changed everything was a simple gesture of kindness when a small rainbow piece of candy that had been placed on his desk that fateful day in October.

Smiling, he looked over to see that Violet had sank into her own contemplations, the small blueberry colored teddy bear resting snugly in her arms. She watched as Charlie and his mother walked together along the bank of the river, but soon glanced over at Wonka who had folded his long legs up against himself and was holding his knees to his chest with his arms. She sat for a time watching the candy maker.

When he realized that she was looking over at him, he turned his head and noticed that she was smiling at him.

Wonka knew with absolute certainty that the goodness that he had hoped to find in Violet Beauregarde was present. In the back of his mind, he could not help but wonder if that same internal goodness would eventually manifest itself in the other three children as well. It would be nice if all the people who had visited the factory that day could also find their own fairy tale happy ending just as they had done.

The End…


End file.
